


Everything That Rises

by Ywain Penbrydd (penbrydd)



Series: Vexation of Spirit [19]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), Shadow Unit, The Lone Gunmen (TV)
Genre: Assassination Attempt(s), Chaz would like to buy a coping skill, Clones, Golems, Hospitalization, M/M, Mind Control, One or more sharks may have been jumped in the writing of this fic, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psionic Battle, Sibling Rivalry, Smut, Telepathy, canon-typical misuse of technology, shitty television depictions of hacking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:01:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 82,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24106369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penbrydd/pseuds/Ywain%20Penbrydd
Summary: Everything that can go wrong will go wrong, and that's just the beginning. Chaz can't go home, because it's a crime scene. Langly's worried that Kim of Bedlam's going to try again, and they're not going to see it coming, next time. Montoya's got a horrifying development in the amphetamine murders. And Reid's just waiting to get the stitches out of his arm.
Relationships: Richard "Ringo" Langly/Spencer Reid/Chaz Villette
Series: Vexation of Spirit [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1058681
Comments: 129
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

He thinks it's Thursday. Maybe it was still Wednesday, but he's pretty sure it's been Thursday for a while. And while Valentine's Day wasn't usually his favourite day of the year, this year it's just grotesque. He looked through the gauzy curtains across the table from where he sat on Reid's sofa, and held his fourth or fifth cup of coffee in both hands.  
  
"So, I've got a few more days off," he said, nodding like he's not sure if he's going to laugh or cry.  
  
"Me too." Reid's been a little too quiet, and these are the first words he's said in a few hours.  
  
"What the _fuck_ ," Langly said, for probably the fourteenth time in those hours, and it's still not a question.  
  
"We're involved in a shooting. It's just neither of us took the shot." Chaz nodded like a bobblehead, like the motion was the only thing keeping him from doing something regrettable. "You get covered in someone else's brains, you get a few days off."  
  
"You two _sure_ you're okay?" Langly asked from the chair he'd dragged over to the end of the coffee table.  
  
"We will be," Reid assured him, quietly. He looked down at his arm, eyeing the unbloodied bandages that were a souvenir of last week's case in Baltimore. "The stitches come out soon."  
  
Chaz took one hand off his coffee and wrapped it around Reid's hand. "I'm sorry."  
  
"It was the best answer we had. Given the circumstances, I'm less upset by your choices than I would have been if he'd pulled the trigger."  
  
"I doubt you'd have had the time to be upset," Chaz pointed out, grimly. "I still shouldn't have--"  
  
"You did. And now I know. And just like you've learned to live with it, so will I." Reid held tightly to Chaz's hand, a physical reassurance more compelling than anything else he'd been able to offer since Chaz slammed the door between them, in the aftermath.  
  
"You, um... You're not...?" Langly eyed his boyfriend warily.  
  
"No. Still not. I'm a little more useful than we thought, but I'm not anomalous." Reid shrugged. "I don't think I ever will be, unless I get a much better offer."  
  
"There are no good offers," Chaz muttered into his cup.  
  
"Yeah, if you're not by now, I'm not really sure what it would take," Langly admitted. "Though I think having a gun to your head in the presence of two gammas _might_ have done it, for anyone else. But, you're you, and I like you, but you're kind of a freak. I like that, too."  
  
Chaz caught a blip through the barrier between them, and wondered what Reid had just remembered so loudly. Probably not his business, given how fast it went away. He was relieved, though, that he could still hold Reid at bay at all after what they'd done. He cleared his throat and derailed the conversation. "In bed."  
  
"He _has_ a bed, now." Langly pointed at Reid. "And it's bigger than yours."  
  
"I still prefer the chair, if I'm sleeping alone," Reid protested, absently rubbing his thumb across the back of Chaz's hand. They didn't need to be sharing thoughts for him to know how shaken Chaz still was by what had happened only a few hours ago, however long it felt. "If Duke asks, you slept on my couch."  
  
"Obviously." Chaz slumped down on the sofa, tipping his head back. "He's _sure_ you're anomalous."  
  
"He's wrong."  
  
"I know. You're definitely not the kind of anomalous he thinks you are." Chaz snorted. "He thinks you've got some kind of echolocation thing."  
  
Reid looked stunned for about as long as it took the laugh to start. "He what?"  
  
"He hasn't figured out that you only show signs of anomalous talents when you're _with me_. Mostly because he doesn't see you by yourself. It was the most reasonable explanation for how you managed to walk to the car with your eyes closed."  
  
"That is _not_ a reasonable explanation."  
  
"You were talking for a lot of it. _We_ were talking for a lot of it."  
  
"And somehow this is more reasonable than the idea that I've worked in that building for years, and I'm pretty sure I could have done most of that blindfolded anyway? At least to the door." The faintly horrified smile that accompanied the laugh still hadn't faded. "Counting steps is much easier than counting cards."  
  
Langly cut in. "Seriously? How much of the building can you do that with?"  
  
"Only the parts I visit regularly, which leaves out several floors. Of course, the layouts of everything above ground level are fairly consistent, so even if I don't know what's on that floor, I probably _do_ know where the walls are, if nothing else. Did discover I don't know where the bathrooms are on six, though."  
  
"Behind the elevator," Chaz muttered.  
  
"...That's a maintenance closet."  
  
"Not on six!"  
  
Reid shook his head. "Anyway, I could've made it as far as the door without help, but probably not to the car. And it wouldn't have been nearly as easy as we made it look."  
  
Langly groaned loudly. "If _you_ end up in Idlewood, out of all of us, I'm going to have some serious questions."  
  
"It's not going to happen. Again, I'm not anomalous, and it's really unlikely that's going to change _now_ ," Reid argued, snatching up his coffee again. "And we've got other concerns with Duke, not that I think those concerns are going to manifest until he's determined how to wield them to the best effect."  
  
"The picture was destroyed, Spencer. There's no way he figured out it was you."  
  
"I don't know if you've noticed, recently, but we're not the same colour, and I've got wider ankles. Parts of the legs were still intact. And he was _looking at me_."  
  
"Not like he can see your ankles," Langly pointed out, eyeing the overlong pyjamas Reid was still wearing. "And you're wearing the fluffy socks, anyway." He glanced over at Chaz. "I'll replace it."  
  
Chaz sighed, still staring at the ceiling. "I don't know if you should. It's beautiful, and I'll miss it, but... A little difficult to hide something that big, you know?"  
  
"Then I'll replace it _better_."  
  
"If you're thinking about a digital frame, I'm just going to nix that, up front. Do you know what Hafs would do with a digital frame that big, across from my bed?"  
  
"Whatever I do won't be wireless," Langly promised, after a moment's consideration. "Because never mind what she'd do to the picture, I'm more worried about what she'd do to me if she had to see it."  
  
There was a long pause, before anyone spoke again, the hazy light at the windows brightening a touch.  
  
"I don't think I'm ever going to get used to-- There are deaths you can look at, and they're not so bad. You do this job long enough, and you get used to dead people. You get used to seeing the worst things one person can inflict on someone else. You wind up with a strong stomach, at the very least. And exactly none of it prepares you to wear someone's brains from less than six inches away."  
  
Langly swallowed hard, trying not to think too hard about it.  
  
"I know," Reid said it quietly, but his voice carried weight in the silent room. "I wasn't as close, but I know."  
  
"Jack wasn't a bad guy. I only knew him to nod to, but he was like any of us. And he never said a word to me about it. I don't think I ever caught him flirting... This was the _last_ thing I expected. And I was so sure he was safe, when I looked away..."  
  
"You know that not everyone handles the Anomaly as well as you do," Reid reminded him.  
  
"I know, but... I didn't _see it_."  
  
"Look, you met this guy at a club, right? Of course you didn't see it." Langly got up and tried to make his way around the far side of the table, to the kitchen, without tripping over anything. "You're expecting to get stared at. He's probably staring at you. It's not weird."  
  
"No, I mean, he shot himself. _I didn't see it_." Chaz sat forward, leaning his elbows on his knees, twisting his hand out of Reid's. "I thought he was going to shoot one of _us_. When he started to move, he was going to shoot _you_."  
  
"And then you stopped him." Reid rubbed his face, tiredly. "You're afraid you killed him, but I don't think you did. I think he saw something in your face, when you turned around, that he wasn't expecting, and it changed his mind."  
  
"That I wasn't going to change my mind, if he killed you? That I love you?"  
  
Langly leaned out of the kitchen, leaving the dishwasher open. "Uhh, _excuse me_?"  
  
Chaz looked up at him, brow wrinkled in confusion, and then he remembered. "Right. You slept through that conversation. I love your boyfriend, but not like you do."  
  
"You love him, you're boning him, where's the difference?" Annoyance crossed Langly's face. "You're not interested in a relationship, so of course, you fall in love with my boyfriend."  
  
"No." Reid turned his head to look at Langly. "Not _in love_. Like Byers."  
  
Langly's mouth shut so fast his teeth clicked, and he straightened up, blinking.  
  
"We're almost inseparably part of each other. I don't want to say it was inevitable, because I know that's not true, but it was one of a fairly small number of likely outcomes. I care very deeply about Chaz, because he's part of me." Reid held out a hand to Langly, an embarrassed smile curving his lips. "You... I love you like Launcelot loved Guinevere. Completely, foolishly, and to the ends of the earth, whether or not it's a good idea."  
  
"This the part where I'm supposed to yell at you for not getting on the god damn cart fast enough?" Langly shut the dishwasher with his knee.  
  
"You remember that?"  
  
"You always tell that one when you think I can't hear you."  
  
"Not _always_. But, I do come back to it often." Reid ducked his head, eyes bright when he looked back up. "It's a reminder to myself of the lengths I would go to, for you."  
  
"It's true." Chaz nodded sagely, glad the conversation had turned back away from him. "He kicked a guy in the face."  
  
Reid shot him a pained look. "And that was neither good nor right, and is exactly the kind of thing I'm trying to _avoid_ doing."  
  
"It was an effort for _me_ not to kick him again, for good measure," Chaz admitted, scratching at the tape holding the gauze on his neck.  
  
Looking wryly up at Langly, Reid cleared his throat. " _That's_ the kind of thing you're supposed to complain when I do."  
  
Langly shrugged. " _You_ complained enough about it without the help. _I_ thought it was kind of hot."  
  
Behind Reid, Chaz yawned despite himself. "You two should look at each other like that in front of Duke a few times. Pretty sure that'll clear up any questions he's got about _me_."  
  
"As concerned as I am about his thoughts on our relationship, I'm interested to see his reaction once he figures out _why_ I come off as anomalous. Eventually, he _will_ figure out it's you, not me."  
  
"I'm not looking forward to that. Falkner is going to have my head on a plate." Chaz slid sideways until his head rested on Reid's shoulder. "What was that about you having a bed?"  
  
"You really think you're going to sleep?" Reid asked, resting his cheek against the top of Chaz's head.  
  
"No, but I think I'm rapidly losing the ability to avoid the attempt."  
  
"Come on, you can laugh at me when I don't open the door right, again."  
  
"Wait, wait, wait," Langly argued, leaning against the doorframe. "Where's all that courtly love shit, now? _He_ should have to open the door if he wants to use the bed."  
  
Chaz squinted up at Langly, sure he'd missed something. "It's a _door_. I'm not _that_ tired."  
  
"Oh, come on, that is such a set up, and you know it." Langly stared intently at Reid and gestured at Chaz. "Isn't this the part where Sir Full Of Himself walks into the price for arrogance, and Lady Whoeverthefuck has to come save him from himself by feeding him completely cryptic clues?"  
  
"You just want an excuse to make me play the part of Lady Whoever."  
  
Langly's look turned coy. "Well, you did such a good job last time..."  
  
"Last... time...?" Chaz looked even more confused than he'd started. "I feel like I should ask, and at the same time, I'm pretty sure I'm better off not knowing. _One_ of us in a dress was enough, and you still have great legs."  
  
"Yeah, I know." Langly glanced down at himself and rolled his eyes. "First step? Find the door."  
  
Now, Chaz was sure they were fucking with him. "The door that's about ten feet behind the couch? That door?"  
  
"Not this bedroom," Reid told him. " _His_ bedroom."  
  
" _Your_ bedroom, my apartment," Langly argued.  
  
"You took the one on the end, so it's that wall." Chaz gestured vaguely toward the wall in question. "If it's in the wall, it's a bookcase. Only two of them are big enough, so I'm guessing it's the one you just moved all the crap out from in front of."  
  
Reid was glad Chaz wasn't in his head, right then, or he'd have felt the smile that didn't happen. "One way to find out, right? I'm going to tell you it's not a trick book, because I don't want to sit here all night while you try all of them."  
  
"Yeah, we should probably get to bed sometime this year," Langly teased, leaning out to grab Reid's empty cup so he could add that to the dishwasher.  
  
"Or you could just show me how the fucking door works, and we could go to bed _now_."  
  
Reid could feel the change in the weight against his shoulder, and he knew if they didn't get up now, Chaz was probably going to pass out. Really, he was almost surprised they both hadn't dropped off an hour ago, but every time his eyes drifted shut, he could see the side of Jack's head disintegrate, and Chaz had been so much closer.  
  
He looked up at Langly. "Go open the door. We'll be there shortly."  
  
Langly spent another few seconds studying Chaz, slowly realising that he was nowhere near as okay as he'd been pretending, and he really hadn't looked that okay to begin with. "Are you sure you don't need a hand?"  
  
"We're fine. Just get the door." Reid waited until Langly had crossed the room before he reached across himself to put a hand on Chaz's shoulder. "Come back to me," he said quietly.  
  
"No. You don't need this." Chaz dragged himself to his feet, grateful when he didn't topple into Reid's lap. He hadn't really been awake _that_ long, but the day they'd had weighed on him almost physically.  
  
"You don't need it, either. You're afraid you killed him, but _none_ of us were supposed to survive."  
  
"You don't know that."  
  
"Yes, I do. And if I know it, so do you, because you're _how_ I know it. He meant--"  
  
"And that's why I can't. I can't put you through what I went through. I had no right to use you like that, and there's a chance that if we do that again, you're going to--"  
  
Reid stood up, nudging the coffee table out of his way, eyes bright and chin tipped up that half inch that put him eye to eye with Chaz. "How angry would you be if I'd had to shoot him with your gun? Because that's what we're talking about, here. You borrowed something of mine to save our lives, and maybe you didn't ask first, but it was _my decision_. You were having trouble, because you couldn't see him. I knew if I could get him to look me in the eye, you _could_. And he'd be distracted for a split second, because he was entirely focused on you, at that point. I made that decision, and I was really hoping you could follow that thought."  
  
Chaz opened his mouth and Reid cut him off.  
  
"Yes, I _am_ sure that was my idea. If we could tell them what was happening, my team would tell you that was my idea, because that is exactly the sort of thing I do when I have a gun to my head, although at least once, possibly twice, the immediate danger to life and limb involved explosives. And do you know why I'm willing to make questionable decisions in the face of death? Because the only thing worse than dying is dying slowly and painfully, and I think we both know that. I _know_ you know that, for almost the same reasons I do. We were going to die, and I offered you an easy way to stop that from happening, and if I haven't said it yet, _thank you_." Reid held up a finger as he stopped to breathe. "So, please. Come back to me. I've never been afraid of you, and I'm not going to start now, just because we've learned to do something new. There is not enough time in my life for that kind of fear."  
  
"Spencer..." Chaz leaned down and took the kiss that wasn't quite being offered. "I can't. Not right now. Just let me put my head on." A laugh that was less humour than dismay slipped out. "I don't want you to see me like this."  
  
And that, Reid understood all too well. "Come to bed. You need to sleep."  
  
"So do you."  
  
"I'll get there," Reid promised, slipping an arm around Chaz's waist and leading him toward the door, where Langly waited.  
  
Chaz glanced down the wall. "I picked the wrong bookcase."  
  
"And that is why I moved, as you noticed, 'all the crap' from in front of the other one."  
  
Chaz let Reid walk him into the next room, but as soon as he looked up, he stopped dead. He could hear Langly sliding the door closed behind them, but that barely registered as he took in the dark walls and the muted light that spilled down them from the windows at the end of the room. "Is this the part where you tell me I actually died, and welcome me to the afterlife? Because I might be a little disappointed, but not much."  
  
"Sorry, you're still breathing." Langly clapped him on the back, as he passed, heading for the bed that Chaz was just beginning to realise occupied the entire other end of the room.  
  
"You remember that conversation about how you weren't going to put a bed--"  
  
"In my living room?" Reid drawled. "It's not my living room. It's _his_ living room."  
  
"It's _your_ master bedroom, complete with attached bath, which I _will_ be replacing with a whirlpool tub that fits all three of us." Langly smiled smugly as he kicked off his shoes. "Byers owns the building. I can do that."  
  
"Yeah, still not convinced this isn't Narnia." Chaz took another look around the room, picking out the glow stars on the ceiling that the light hadn't yet reached. "What the hell, Frank?"  
  
Langly shrugged and tipped backwards to sprawl across the bed. "I can take a hint, occasionally. I took his entire apartment and redid it in blue and purple, instead of green and blue, because it's a bedroom, and it's supposed to be _relaxing_. He likes dim, but not dark, and the best way to get there is to make the walls dark, which I know, because surprise, guess who also doesn't have white walls. And the bed had to be big enough for three of us in any direction, and you had to not be able to fall out of it, so maybe that's a little over the top, but I'm voting it's not, because I've met us. Anyway, welcome to the mythical land of Go The Fuck To Bed."  
  
Chaz staggered away from Reid and collapsed face-first onto the bed. "Nobody wake me up before noon."  
  
"I'm not waking you up before four, and that's because we've got dinner reservations at seven." Reid carefully undressed, at the foot of the bed, hanging his clothes on the rack Langly had dragged in from somewhere, while he wasn't looking.  
  
"I'll be out of your way by then," Chaz promised.  
  
"Don't be a dumbass, Villette." Langly elbowed him sharply. "We're taking you out to dinner. It's Valentine's Day."  
  
"Which is exactly why I should go home."  
  
"You can't. They're still processing the scene, and then you have to get it cleaned," Reid reminded him. "You're stuck with one of us, for a few days."  
  
"Or both of us." Langly grinned.  
  
"I'm so glad Duke's never seen your apartment, but what's JJ going to think?"  
  
"She's not. She doesn't know you're here. And if Garcia tells her, I'm telling her you slept on the couch. I used to sleep on that couch. It's more comfortable than it looks." Reid studied the configuration of bodies. "And you're on my side of the bed."  
  
Chaz groaned. "Do you care? Do you _really care_?"  
  
"No, but when you attempt to jam yourself into the corner, there's going to be about seven feet between you and the reflexive end of that thought."  
  
Chaz blinked against his forearm and turned his head to look at Langly.  
  
"And I put the juice and shitty protein bars on the other side of the bed." Langly took his glasses off and tossed them towards the windows, listening for the sound of them hitting a shelf.  
  
"You built a bed for Spencer, but you put food neither of you like next to it."  
  
"Because you like it, and we like you." Langly propped himself up on his elbow and squinted at Chaz. "Did you hit your head or something? You're not usually this completely fucking dumb."  
  
Reid slipped into the space between Chaz and the wrong wall, pulling himself up to the top of the bed to get under the blankets. "This hasn't been the best day for either of us. Also, it's Valentine's Day," he reminded Langly, "and he's single."  
  
"What the hell am I, chopped meat?" Langly poked Chaz sharply in the ribs.  
  
"Since this conversation is clearly headed in that direction, let me just say I prefer your meat intact," Chaz muttered against his arm. "And now if we're done psychoanalysing the least coherent member of this fucksandwich, I was on my way to sleep. Pretty sure this falls under 'don't profile your co-workers', at the very least, Spencer."  
  
"I think we're pretty far past that. Pretty sure we just jumped headlong into 'using your profiling skills to avoid screwing up yet another relationship'."  
  
Chaz lifted his head and blinked blearily up from somewhere around Reid's hip. "Does that even work?"  
  
"I have no idea, but, for obvious reasons, I'm sure you'll be the first to know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're gonna see if I can hold up another Sunday/Wednesday fic! :D Welcome back to the next episode of this utter fucking lunacy, and I hope to god I can finally tie up some loose ends.


	2. Chapter 2

What woke Chaz, about five hours later, when the sun was golden even through the blue curtains, was the sound Langly was obviously trying not to make. A tiny, choked sound, that instantly grabbed Chaz's attention in the way all the whispering before it hadn't. And what followed was a long, slow moan that sounded like it must've started somewhere around Langly's toes, because it echoed through his whole body on the way out. In that moment, Chaz didn't remember the day before or the nightmares that hadn't woken him. The only thing he was blearily sure of was that he'd passed out with most of his clothes on and that whatever was going on next to him was an indication that had been a mistake. He tried to scrape Reid's thoughts, rather than open his eyes, but met with nothing, as if he were standing just too far away to reach.  
  
What had he done to himself?  
  
It was important, and he needed to wake up and deal with it.  
  
But, he didn't want to remember, yet, and somewhere in the back of his head, he knew he had time. He knew if he moved too much, one of them would notice he was awake, and he wasn't sure he wanted to be dragged into something that should've been just for them. Still, he let one eye open just enough to make out the scene a couple feet away, and this bed really was huge, he realised, suddenly. He hadn't noticed that last night... And the memory of last night hung over him, just waiting for the slightest thought to come crashing down. He took a page from Reid and slammed the door on it, refusing to consider anything but right now. And right now, Langly's vocabulary seemed limited to a handful of single-syllable words on the subject of his intense desire for more. But, Chaz's narrow view of the scene hadn't resolved into anything he could make sense of, yet. Langly sprawled down the bed, and... where was Reid? Kneeling between his legs, maybe? But the angles were...  
  
And then the flicker of movement at the edge of his vision got him to turn his head just enough to recognise what he hadn't quite been able to see -- Reid's mouth on Langly's cock. And that explained _everything_. Not that he'd expected to see Reid try that with anyone else, but it made a certain amount of sense. Reid had borrowed his memories, his skills, worked the bugs out with him, and then brought that back to Langly. Somewhere in the uncharted depths of his mind, he was kind of offended, but he slammed the door on that, too. Reid wasn't the only one who'd been stealing skills in this relationship.  
  
But, the more he watched, from this angle, the more he _wanted_. And he knew neither of them minded him watching, or they'd have moved off the bed, at least, if not back into the other room, but he didn't want... He didn't want to step into something that didn't belong to him any more than he already had. He didn't want to interrupt this and get a pity fuck out of it. But, he'd shut Reid out for some--

_i don't want you to see me like this_

\-- reason he wasn't thinking about right now, so neither of them knew he was awake, yet. Neither of them would feel like they had to offer, if he just stayed mostly still and watched the slide of Reid's lips against the thin layer of latex between his tongue and a mouthful of incessant dribbling. As much as Reid insisted it was flattering, Chaz knew he didn't actually want to taste it. And Chaz also knew Reid was pretty incredible at compensating for the extra layer. He could remember the feel of those lips wrapped around his own flesh, watching this happen from a whole other angle, experiencing not just the echo of his own mouth, but the increasingly less hesitant tongue of his substantially less-evil twin. And that memory leached into his blood, the ghost of every motion of Reid's mouth playing out against his skin, under his skin, in the pounding of the blood against his nerves.  
  
Reid lifted his head and coughed. "Tell me," he said, not looking up at Langly as he reached across Chaz for a tissue.  
  
But, Chaz could see what Langly couldn't, at least for a second, the red eyes and swollen lips, the faceful of spit and tears. Blowjobs weren't flattering on anyone, and yet he'd never had or gotten a complaint. Still, he could get why Reid didn't want Langly to see that.

_idontwantyoutoseemelikethis_

He leaned hard on that memory, shoving it away, as Langly finally got to the end of a series of desperate and outraged sounds and started making words.  
  
"A dick in a hole. I don't care which one of us is on which side of that, but it should be happening," Langly insisted, tugging the bottom of his t-shirt down and rubbing his thighs together.  
  
Chaz could see the faint smile that was still at the wrong angle for Langly, and he wondered if Reid had figured out he was awake. He stayed even more still, eyes unmoving behind the blur of the lashes. He could only see Reid's face and shoulders, like this, but he could hear the snap of the bottle of lube opening.  
  
"Tell me," Reid said again, and Langly inhaled sharply.  
  
"Fuck me," Langly demanded, and Chaz could hear him writhe against the sheets. "If you're going to do that with your hands you should do that with your dick!"  
  
"Not so loud!" Reid teased, voice still quieter than usual. "You'll wake Chaz."  
  
"Maybe if Villette wakes up I'll finally get a dick in my ass!"  
  
Chaz watched Reid bite his tongue, the silent laugh shaking his shoulders.  
  
Finally Reid looked up. "Breathe," he said, leaning forward and out of Chaz's line of sight, and Langly's leg went with him.  
  
And now Chaz couldn't see anything, but the barely-stifled sounds from Langly and the way the bed dipped told him what he already knew -- he wanted to be between them. And he was so glad Reid couldn't hear those thoughts, as he sniffed and rolled over, pretending to still be asleep. Curling up, he chuffed and pulled the blanket up to his chin, letting his entire body relax as best he could, eyes completely closed until he was sure Reid had stopped trying to figure out if he was awake. The ' _oh, god, yes, harder_ ,' from Langly told him no one was paying any attention to him.  
  
From this angle, he could watch the surprisingly subtle motion of Reid's hips, and the way Langly's legs flexed, crossed at the ankles, heel probably jammed against Reid's tailbone. This wouldn't last long, and he could tell. And he wondered how long they'd been at it, before he'd woken up, not least because Reid needed the sleep at least as badly as he did. But, that was the way that worked, with them -- sleep a couple of hours and then micronap while waiting for things to happen. But, sometimes they slept for real, and he'd been hoping he could give that to Reid, by keeping his nightmares to himself, but it looked like Reid had better uses for that time, and Chaz couldn't blame him in the least for that decision. He'd have done it, if his brain hadn't just turned off so hard he couldn't even have nightmares about the night before. He was pretty sure he hadn't dreamed at all, as things swam into focus.  
  
Reid was quieter than Langly, but Chaz could still make out the tiny half-swallowed sounds and knew he was biting his lips to keep his mouth closed. The quicker, sharper rolls and thrusts of his hips lined up with the range of single-syllable encouragements from Langly, none of which were 'please', which was much too long of a syllable with that long 'e' in the middle of it. And then Langly's hips lifted off the bed, the line of muscle clean and sharp from his ass down into his calf, and Chaz was relatively sure the sound that went with that involved Langly jamming his wrist into his mouth, because it wasn't quite muffled enough to be a pillow.  
  
He watched Reid's back arch with a long, slow breath, and the jitter in Reid's motions stopped -- solid thrusts without the sudden tick and roll -- and Langly's muffled pleading for more was interrupted by a sniff, a cough, and a snort, before Reid leaned to the side again and Chaz could her the sound of a tissue being pulled out of the box. Definitely one for Langly, then, and possibly not the first. And he could recognise that Reid meant to push for at least one more, before he let himself follow.  
  
Somehow, what made this at all appealing to watch was that he knew them so well, that he knew from the slightest motions or just a sound he couldn't see the cause of what was next. He'd been part of this, part of them -- of Reid, anyway -- and it changed things. He understood how he fit into this in so many ways, where he was the cause, how this worked with three bodies instead of two, how it worked differently with two bodies and three minds from either way that could go. And he understood that this time, he didn't belong here.  
  
He'd spent so long unable to even consider romance, after everything changed -- after he _broke the world_ \-- and now he was watching the man he shared most of his mind with bang the guy with the incredible legs, and they were so obviously so in love that it was the undercurrent of every breath and every motion. It was impossible not to see it. He and Reid were each other's missing pieces, but Reid and Langly were pieces of some greater, unfathomable thing. Sort of octarine, really. Glaringly there, but what the fuck is it?  
  
This time, Langly made exactly no effort to shut himself up, and Chaz gave up any pretence of being asleep, propping himself up on his elbow in time to watch as Reid's back arched, hands digging into the bed, eyes rolled back as he stopped breathing. And Chaz knew. Three... two... one... and then the gasp and the full-body shudder. Incredible to watch, even if he was expecting it, and he thought he might share that bit, later. Probably not the bit where he'd been watching for so long, though. He knew Reid would understand, and somehow that just made it worse.  
  
Langly stretched and Chaz was pretty sure that sound counted as a purr. "You just going to stay over there and stare?"  
  
"I didn't want to interrupt."  
  
Langly's eyes narrowed. "You've got a PhD, right?"  
  
"Two of them. What...? Relevance?" Chaz looked up at Reid for help, and got a blank look.  
  
"You're having the academics and simple sentences problem. I'm not sure how many ways I can say, 'I like your dick, so it's not interrupting if you're going to use it', before you get the point."  
  
Chaz looked at Reid again, for help, but this time Reid was laughing.  
  
"I mean, unless that's something between the two of you and your grand total of one brain," Langly went on, squinting suspiciously at one and then the other of them.  
  
" _You're_ the one who gets jealous!" Chaz protested, and Reid stopped laughing.  
  
Langly half rolled over, twisting himself without displacing Reid, and jabbed a finger at Chaz. "Yeah, you're right, I do. Because I'm not like you and I'm not like him, and I don't have a pile of PhDs and one shared brain."  
  
It took a second for Chaz to follow that to its conclusion. "Because 'being one' is the ideal romance?" He sucked on his lips to hold back the genuinely hysterical laughter and shot Reid a pained look.  
  
"It's not." Reid reached down and pulled Langly's hair back from where it was in his face and stuck on his shoulder.  
  
"For exactly the reasons you don't want to be part of it," Chaz admitted, still not reaching out toward either of them. "It's not... We _don't_ know all of each other's secrets, and we don't want to. We lived thirty-something years without each other, and those are experiences that, for the most part, only belong to one of us. There's at _least_ a brain and a half between us, and as useful as it is, sometimes, and as much as we're able to enjoy it, it's not the kind of thing I'd wish on another person."  
  
"I do enjoy it," Reid said, quietly. "And I appreciate it for reasons you already know. And I still wouldn't advise it as some sort of standard of romance."  
  
"But, you have that, and you're making it work. And yes, okay, I'm nauseatingly in love with Special Agent Sex Machine, over here, but I just... what am I even doing here?"  
  
The idea that Langly was having the same problem he was hadn't really crossed Chaz's mind, but there it was. He pointed at Reid. "He loves you so much it gives me chest pains every time he thinks about you. Besides, you're the hot one."  
  
The combination sputtering scoff-laugh-snort sounded like the kind of thing one shouldn't do in polite company, which thankfully, this wasn't. "Me? Are you sure you don't need glasses, Villette? I know Reid needs them and he's never wearing them and..." Langly squinted up past his shoulder. "You drive without your glasses."  
  
"That is not the point, and as long as I know where I'm going, I don't need to be able to read the street signs. Road signs are consistent shapes and colours, so I don't need to read those, either." Reid leaned down to kiss whatever part of Langly's face he could reach. "And I do love you, even if I'm not very good at it, yet."  
  
"He's the hot one," Langly insisted, pointing to Reid.  
  
Chaz and Reid stared at each other for a long moment, before Chaz finally spoke again. "No, it's you. And that's not just Florida talking." He paused. "I love that we all agree it's not _me_."  
  
"You remind me to much of myself to be consistently sexually attractive." Reid shrugged one shoulder almost defensively.  
  
"You've got a face like a muppet. A hot muppet, but still a muppet." Langly snorted. "Still better looking than me." He pointed at Reid again. "He's the hot one."  
  
"He is pretty cute," Chaz admitted, "but two out of three of us think you're the hot one."  
  
"That's because the actual hot one is deranged and there's not really two of you," Langly argued. "And none of that is the point."  
  
"It kind of is," Reid decided after a long moment. "You haven't had the life experience to lead you to believe that you deserve any of this, which is probably also why you keep buying me expensive gifts, despite the fact that most, but not all, of those have in some way been offensive or otherwise inappropriate."  
  
" _Speaking_ of people who don't think they deserve nice things." Langly rolled his eyes. "Which is _probably_ why you won't let me get you anything cool."  
  
"No, that's because everyone thinks he can't take care of himself, despite the fact he's been doing it about as long as I have. And everyone's sure I can take care of myself, for the record. I just have one of those faces." Chaz cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows. "And I don't deserve nice things, either, but that's just because I'm an asshole."  
  
Langly rolled his eyes again. "Why are you an asshole this time, Villette?"  
  
"A, you just made my point, thank you, and B, it's classified." Chaz paused, contemplatively. "Or we could take the part where I used your boyfriend as a weapon and killed somebody doing it."  
  
"Still not upset about that. Still my idea. Still worked and we're both alive." Reid finally reached for a tissue to deal with the condom before that turned into a mess. "And you didn't kill him."  
  
"You can't be sure of that."  
  
"Yes, I can."  
  
This time, when Reid met his eyes, Chaz let it happen, let everything between them fall away, and the first thing that hit him had definitely come from Jack -- the blood, so much blood, and a woman crying. There would be old scars that showed up in the autopsy. More than one set, in more than one place. And that was why Reid was so sure. This must have been near the forefront of Jack's mind, and Reid, _being Reid_ , had filtered it out for him.  
  
" _None of us_ were supposed to walk away from that," Reid insisted, yet again. "I don't know why you didn't see it if I saw it, but--"  
  
"I didn't see it _because_ you saw it." Chaz paused. "I think. We have some difficulties with certain things, and with only one event to judge from, I think this might be one of them. Let me guess, everything you saw was horrifying. Most of what I saw was the path of the obsession, the heart of how we'd gotten to that point, but I couldn't really see _him_."  
  
"The Anomaly, trying to get us to make a mistake. And you did." Reid's eyes never moved from Chaz's. "You thought you killed him."  
  
"I can't be sure I--"  
  
"I can be. I saw more than you think I did. It just took a little while to figure out what I saw. So, no, I still haven't slept, and we're supposed to be somewhere in--"  
  
The alarm went off and Langly slapped it.  
  
"--three hours." Reid nodded, offering a tight smile. "So, here's what's going to happen. I'm going to give you the part you didn't see, and then I'm going to go take a shower. Langly, make coffee. When I get out of the shower, I'm going to have a cup of coffee, get dressed, and take a nap in the chair until the two of you are ready to go." He pointed at Chaz. "You're driving."  
  
"I don't even know where we're going!"  
  
"I'll give you that, too." Reid reached out and cupped Chaz's cheek, tucking his hair back. "Can you handle this?" he asked, quietly.  
  
"I'd be over it already, If I'd let you give it to me before we went to bed."  
  
"That's an asshole point," Langly volunteered, extracting himself from the bottom of the pile to deal with the coffee maker.  
  
"Making my point again, Langly," Chaz muttered, raising his hand to Reid's and nodding.  
  
"Your point's not even valid," Langly scoffed, too busy checking the coffee maker for leaks to notice that Chaz couldn't hear him any more. "You're an asshole; I'm an asshole; your asshole sister is an asshole, and you can tell her I said so. _Frohike's_ an asshole. Has that really ever stopped me from doing what needs to be done? No. You deserve nice things because I fucking said so and I'm buying." He huffed. "And that goes for you, too, Agent Sexy."  
  
"I'm buying dinner," Reid muttered, distractedly, trying to focus on the sequence of events from the night before. "And if you don't like it, you can go home to Byers."


	3. Chapter 3

The couple who owned the restaurant greeted Reid like he was part of the family, which he seemed to accept with relatively good humour, albeit somewhat awkwardly, as if he'd come to expect it but wasn't quite sure what to do with it. The woman patted Langly's arm with a proud smile, asked if he was taking good care of her 'young friend', and Langly looked a lot less accustomed to the treatment, but offered a completely terrified smile as he assured her that he was doing the best he was allowed. Chaz thought he was going to slip by, unremarked, but the man threw him an apologetic smile.  
  
"My wife, she thinks they're our sons, but we see them more often than our sons. You must be what, the cousin? The half-brother? We always knew he had family, somewhere. It's good he finally brings you in."  
  
Chaz ducked his head and shrugged. "Something like that. People usually think we're twins."  
  
The man's face crinkled in disbelief and he stepped back and looked at Reid again. "Twins? No, no. Cousins, I think."  
  
Reid tipped his head as if considering it. "Something like that," he agreed, with a shrug.  
  
The conversation remained subdued until about halfway through the meal, and Chaz realised that Reid had picked this place, not just because he knew the owners, but because it wasn't particularly busy. There was no one to see them, to see _Langly_. Which was a lot less of an issue now that there were clones, but still about the same amount of issue if Langly was right that the Society had paid their favourite cleanup team to deal with them. But, the rest of the restaurant held only a handful of smiling couples in brightly-coloured clothing, with eyes for nothing but each other. Nothing like what he'd seen on the few images from the house in Saltville.  
  
Langly kept glancing around nervously, despite having his back to a wall and a clear view of both entrances to the room, and Chaz finally had to ask.  
  
"You think they followed us?"  
  
Langly blinked, his entire body still as his eyes slid to Chaz's face. "No, but thanks for putting that in my head." He shook his head and nodded in Reid's direction. "I keep expecting him to propose, and then I'd have to say no, and it's a perfectly shitty ending to the longest day ever."  
  
Reid recoiled, offence writ large across his face. "I'm not going to _propose_! I'm the one who said you're not allowed to propose to _me_! Under no circumstances can we be married! I'd have to explain it! I'd have to justify it! I don't want to have to get my clearance renewed because I got married! And I'd really rather not have you become more of a target than you are! Among other things..."  
  
"Yeah, but that was your birthday, and your concerns were mostly economic. It's been almost four months, and we're both bad at consistent decisions for our own good, or we wouldn't be here, and you know it." Langly kicked Reid in the ankle under the table. "And I love you, so shut up."  
  
Chaz put down his fork and cleared his throat. "Listen, I want you both to know something. I'm ... not great at relationships. Actually, I'm really pretty bad at them. And I have _never_ experienced a trainwreck like what I just watched at this table." He picked up his drink and held it out, as if for a toast. "So, congratulations!"  
  
Reid laughed first, elbows on the table, face in his hands. After a moment he peered over his fingertips, trying to pull himself together, and finally folded his hands in his lap, lips tight against the return of that laugh. "It's the relationship equivalent of sushi. It's not for everyone. Any rational person looks at it and wonders why they would ever put that in their mouth. But, for some smaller percentage of the population, it's a delicacy. It's absolutely wonderful."  
  
Langly looked less than entirely impressed. "Did you just compare me to raw fish?"  
  
"You're missing the important point. He compared you to raw fish and _still_ said you were the hot one." Chaz snatched a dumpling from the edge of Langly's plate and tossed it into his own mouth. "Which you are. An exotic delicacy only appreciated by connoisseurs of the fantastic and unusual."  
  
"I was talking about the _relationship_." Reid speared a piece of chicken with his fork and pointed at Chaz with it, a dangerous proposition. "Which is also an exotic delicacy that ranks somewhere in the vicinity of consuming raw seafood in terms of reasonable decisions for one's health and sanity. But, I like it, regardless of what that might say about me."  
  
"It says you're nuts," Langly reminded him. "And there's three of us, so I guess that makes it _mixed_ nuts."  
  
"We're all mad, here." Chaz leaned in and pulled the chicken off Reid's fork with his teeth. "I'm mad; you're mad..."  
  
"How do you know I'm mad?" asked Reid, delivering the next line.  
  
"If you weren't mad, you wouldn't be here." Chaz swiped another bite from Langly's plate.  
  
"Quit hogging the samosas!" Langly took advantage of the opening to snag one from Chaz.  
  
Reid sat watching the two of them duel with forks for the choicest bits of the extraordinary amount of food on the table, or maybe it was just the last bits that weren't sauce. He loved them, each of them differently, and he had no idea why, despite every justification he'd ever offered on the subject. And, really, maybe why wasn't important.  
  
"Frank?" He cursed himself for missing the split second Langly didn't have something in his mouth.  
  
"Hmmrrh?" The sound of interest, filtered through potato.  
  
"Come with me to Boston, for Easter. Assuming I'm not on a case, of course."  
  
"Mmfmm?" Langly was still trying to swallow, but recognition suddenly flared in his eyes. "Mmr mm rmm mrr mm."  
  
"I'm not going to propose!" Reid looked entirely scandalised at the idea. "I just think my mother would like to see you again!"  
  
"You still have a mother, don't you?" Chaz looked at him in a sort of confused wonder, as if the two of them being so close had made him forget there really were two of them, and one living mother between them. His eyes darted back down to his plate, where he tried to soak up as much sauce as he could with the rice. "I forget, sometimes. I don't know her."  
  
"Of course you don't know her." Langly looked at him like he was crazy. "He hasn't taken you to Boston. There hasn't been _time_ to go to Boston."  
  
"No, you remember how I told you we don't know everything about each other? I don't know her." Chaz looked up at Reid again. "You don't think about her where I can hear it."  
  
"No, I don't," Reid agreed. "And I'm not taking you to Boston."  
  
"I'm not asking." Chaz held up a hand. "I don't want to. I have my own mother, thank you."  
  
"And I don't know her." A faint smile crossed Reid's face.  
  
Langly looked back and forth between them, sure he'd missed something, again. "You are both weirder than I am, and I'm pretty sure that's saying something. And neither of you know my mother, either."  
  
"No, but we know _about_ your mother. This case, if nothing else," Chaz reminded him. "You know more about Spencer's mother than I do, than, hopefully, I ever will. Because if I do, it will be because she's become relevant, and that's the last thing I want."  
  
"It's already happened twice," Reid noted, "and I would prefer it not happen again." He glanced at Langly. "Are you still watching her?"  
  
"She's your mom. Of course I am. And my cousin, too, so stop hogging all the god damn samosas, Villette, because I'm just about running at capacity, here."  
  
For once, Chaz didn't argue and just shoved the plate across the table. "You'll forgive me for saying so, but I'm pretty sure this isn't how most couples spend Valentine's Day."  
  
"Arguing over the importance of the last meaningful parent any of us have in the middle of a romantic dinner?" Reid almost managed to look innocent. "We're not a couple, anyway. There are three of us at this table. It's more accurate to say we're a few."  
  
Langly stopped chewing, a pained look on his face.  
  
Chaz groaned. "That was bad, Spencer. That was _terrible_."  
  
Reid smiled like the cat that ate the canary and bought the t-shirt. "Thank you."  
  
Chaz's phone rang in his pocket, the sound loud against the wood of the seat. He fished it out and checked who was calling, rolling his eyes. "I gotta take this. It's Tory."  
  
As Chaz headed back toward the bathroom instead of to the door, Langly relaxed a little and reached across the corner of the table to take Reid's hand. "I'm serious about you not driving to work, until I can get my hands into Bedlam's operation. You need to be invisible, until you're bait, and I don't really want you as bait. I'll go. I'll take Gates and Villette with me. We can handle them, but it probably _will_ take all three of us."  
  
"You need me there, because if I'm not there, I'm still a target," Reid reminded him.  
  
"This is not a conversation I want to be having right now. Aren't we supposed to be like... cooing at each other and making smoochy faces or something?" Langly looked around the room at the rest of the couples. "But, we have to do something, and we have to do it soon, because if they come after us here, I don't know if I can keep us safe. We're a hell of a lot of targets, and we're distributed, and normally, I'd be in favour of distributed, because it means they can't hit all of us at once, but with the history, here, the more spread out we are, the less likely anyone's going to look twice if something happens, and the more opportunities there are for arranged accidents trying to get to each other."  
  
Reid squeezed Langly's fingers, reassuringly. "I do not have room for Mary in my apartment. The two of you are more than enough. I live alone for a reason."  
  
"Yeah, you live in a shoebox." Langly closed his eyes and considered the situation. "I can't volunteer without risking... well, you know. Villette's place is a crime scene, now. The hotel is nice, but it's a damn hotel, and however good the security is, it's a business that fundamentally depends on letting strangers onto the property. And I can't drop this on Gathani, again. Can't. She'll kill me, probably slowly and painfully."  
  
"What about one of the other holdings? I seem to recall Single Bullet owns a lot of property relatively near where we want to be, if we don't go back to Saltville. And points in favour of not going back to Saltville include a decent emergency response time, once it's established that at least two of us are federal agents." Reid rubbed his thumb absently across Langly's knuckles. "I know Saltville gives us distance -- we can see them coming, and they're not likely to harm anyone who's not involved, but we have no _backup_ , in Saltville."  
  
Langly picked up his drink without looking and swallowed a substantial amount. "I can't put gates on the alley, can I?"  
  
"Wait, _where_? Oh, at the apartment?" Reid shook his head almost imperceptibly, tapping on the edge of the table with his thumb. "Garbage pickup. Besides, there's too many of us to fit in my apartment."  
  
"We own the building," Langly reminded him. "Lost a couple of units to complaints about the construction, but the windows are in and I feel a little better about the front doors. But, it does mean I could put us all in your _building_ , for a while, at least."  
  
"Again, collateral damage, and I'm not sure how I feel about that as a risk."  
  
"I'd say it's not real likely -- most of the killings have been car crashes -- except after what they did to my mom's--" Langly's eyes snapped open and he shot a nervous look around the room. "After Agent Dickhead's whopping fuckup in Saltville, I can't swear that's not going to happen again."  
  
"What's finished but not open?" Reid asked, going back to his earlier idea.  
  
"I'll check. It's not usually _my_ job to know that. Whatever we pick, I'll have Muringa come out and check the security -- one person can't do shit like that alone. You always miss something, and that's where they nail you. Two people and you've got somebody to tell you you're being a dumbass."  
  
Chaz came back to the table looking greyish, lips almost invisibly thin. "Nikki and Brady are going up to Baltimore, tonight."  
  
"What happened?" Reid hoped it was a development in the amphetamine murders.  
  
"Fonda met with his lawyers, this afternoon. Half an hour ago, he disintegrated into a heap of wet dirt, in his cell. At a glance, there are no signs he was ever human."  
  
" _Excuse me?_ " Reid stared across the table in horror.  
  
"I have no idea. I really, genuinely, have no idea." Chaz shrugged, wide-eyed, and passed his phone across the table. "But, Tory swears that's what happened, and they have it on video, which I will also have as soon as I'm back near my laptop. They're trying to keep it quiet, for obvious reasons. That's a still from the video. There's a few more, and then you'll know what I know."  
  
"Call him back and tell him to look for a plaque or a scroll. Anything that's not dirt, but probably actual parchment, gold, or wood." Reid flipped through the images. "Whether this is real or an attempt to cover up an escape, I'm relatively sure we're supposed to interpret this as a golem, and if there's a golem, there's a word that gave it life."  
  
Langly blinked at Reid. "A guy turns into dirt, and the first thing you say is 'look in the dirt for the golem word'?"  
  
"No, the _first_ thing I said was 'excuse me', but I didn't hear that wrong, so we have to look at this from a context that provides meaning. Golem legends are popular in Eastern European Jewish communities, and there are three very well-known tales that were written between about thirteen hundred and sixteen hundred, and claim to describe events in the preceding generation or two. In the majority of stories featuring golems, the Hebrew word for 'truth' is either inscribed on or otherwise embedded in the golem, and to destroy the golem, the word must be defaced so it reads 'death', or otherwise removed from the golem's body." Reid handed the phone to Langly. "It's easy and practical to accept these stories as fiction. If you had asked me three hours ago, I'd have laughed at the idea they might be real. But, given the, ah... talents of certain people at the table, and the fact that I'm looking at photographs from a closed-circuit camera in a jail of a man splitting bloodlessly into chunks of clay, I have to question that assumption. I still hold that it is more likely that this is in some way staged to cover Fonda's escape, but it's extremely clear to me that we're meant to interpret him as a golem. And I believe that whatever the truth about what's become of Fonda, the lawyers were involved, because they're the only new people with access to him."  
  
"So, ah... dessert to go?" Langly asked, passing the phone back to Chaz.  
  
"We're on leave," Chaz reminded him, knocking off a quick text to Tory.  
  
"Yeah, but when has that _ever_ stopped you?"


	4. Chapter 4

Reid sat at his desk, writing an in-depth exploration of the golem angle, books piled on every flat surface near him, including each other. All he had to do was write it -- most of it things he already knew -- and Chaz would send it on to Montoya. He wasn't sure it would help, but with this case, 'why the hell do you know that?' seemed to be the theme.  
  
In the chair by the window across from the sofa, Langly sprawled with his leg hung over one arm of the chair, laptop leaning at a precarious angle on his thigh. His fingers flicked periodically, and though his eyes were on the screen, they weren't focused on it. "Byers just reminded me we've got something good, but we can't use it for long. You remember the project we got in the fight with the city about, last year? The homeless apartments thing? Yeah. Promise you can get to the office from there, but we can only have it for a month or two, while we get all the inspections finished and take care of some fiddly shit. On the other hand, we're going to leave it with a better security system than most of the places you'd pay an arm and a leg for, in this town, so we can say any delays were caused by fundamental improvements, or whatever."  
  
Chaz shifted on the sofa, resting his shoeless heel on the wall in a way he was sure Reid would kill him for, later. "I'd be happy to just go home and--"  
  
"Your house is a crime scene, Villette."  
  
"You should call Hafidha," Reid suggested. "You live with her, and if they can't find _you_ , she's a very obvious target."  
  
"So, what, we're seriously just going to temporarily move in to an unfinished building and live there until these guys come after us?" Chaz looked at Reid over the back of the sofa. "Spencer, this is not a good plan."  
  
"Yes, but the problem is that we don't have a good plan, and they're a great deal more likely to pick us off separately, especially given the state of _parking_ , around here." Reid rubbed his face and tossed his pen onto the desk. "Langly's right. The safest thing to do is to put all of us in one place, a place where we can at least make it more difficult to get to us, our cars, or anything else we use regularly."  
  
"And then we go home and the dishwasher's rigged," Chaz argued. "Set it up in advance, and it doesn't matter who's dead or in prison."  
  
"You just want to go home because your house is a crime scene." Langly shoved the laptop onto the table next to him and sat up straighter. "But, your house is a crime scene, and it's going to be for a few days, _at least_. So, this is the part where you move into the safehouse with the rest of us, for a while, and then we argue about who gets to go home, when. Me? I can't go home, either. I can't run the chance I'm going to bring assassins to the door. This is Kim of Bedlam, and he's at _least_ as good as I am, and a lot less squeamish." He blinked. "Was. He's as good as I _was_. Now, I could probably take him down, but I'd have to find him, first. And the best way to find him is to set a trap for his people. He'll find us, but he'll do it on our terms, on our territory, and I will turn him into a digital paste."  
  
Chaz leaned back over the arm of the couch, looking at Reid upside down. "Spencer, do you ever feel like you're getting too old for this shit? I just want to go home, where I have a kitchen I can actually cook in and a bed that I bought for myself. That's supposed to be how a case ends. Go home, cook, sleep in."  
  
Reid looked mildly amused. "You sound like Rossi."  
  
"Rossi has a point." Chaz looked less than impressed.  
  
"What else would we do? That's a serious question. I tried teaching, and I'll keep teaching, but not... I can't _just_ do that. A couple of classes a year, but I couldn't step down. I've watched the people around me transfer out and retire, and I can't do it. It's not about the pursuit. I don't thrive on adrenaline. I don't even like excitement. It's about the conclusion; and I'm not sure I can live with myself if I stop trying."  
  
"I don't exactly have a retirement option, either," Chaz admitted, remembering Lau's face the day he walked away from it all. But, that was another life. He made that mistake once, along with several others, and he wasn't going to repeat the sequence. "We'll be like Duke. We're here 'til it kills us."  
  
"It's how you know you're doing the right thing with your life," Langly said, decisively. "The idea of doing anything else looks like the worst idea you've ever had."  
  
Chaz took a deep breath, like he might explain, and then changed his mind, sighing and sitting back up. "I just want to point out that I still have no clothes except the ones I'm wearing, because my house is a crime scene."  
  
"You fit in my pants," Reid reminded him. "That's the hard part. But, I know you don't fit in most of my shirts. I think I have a few sweaters, though..."  
  
"So, tell me what size you wear." Langly shrugged. "You'll have clothes by tomorrow night, because I might like you better naked, but I'm pretty sure the girls don't need an eyeful."  
  
"The assumption being that I agree we're less of a target together, in a place we're not familiar with, that's still under construction," Chaz snapped, and he knew he was being an asshole, he knew this was entirely irrational, but he really wasn't taking the last few days well, at all. He wanted to go home and sleep in his own bed, so that when he woke up, he could successfully pretend everything was normal again. "Sorry. I know you're right. I just don't want you to be."  
  
"It's not still under construction," Langly huffed, flicking a hand in Chaz's direction and the screen of Chaz's laptop lit up as five more tabs opened in his browser. "We're missing two light fixtures, a hundred and fifty feet of carpet, and a dozen bathroom tiles. Fiddly shit. All the walls are in, the plumbing's connected, and we've had the power on for a week, so we could check that everything works. And Reid, if anyone says shit to you about me buying your building or, god forbid, _the bedroom_ , you can tell them I'm giving _homeless people_ nicer apartments than you have."  
  
"I like my apartment," Reid sighed. "You know, eventually, someone's going to wonder why you have so much money..."  
  
"I made a killing in the stock market. That's what I do. It all looks fine on paper." Langly rolled his eyes. "Go pack. Muringa's already on her way there with the extra hardware."

* * *

  
Chaz called Hafidha from the car. Langly had wanted them all to travel separately, so they could move all of the vehicles at once -- after checking for explosives, of course, but the other accidents hadn't been so simple, and Chaz knew they'd be calling a mechanic in the morning, assuming nobody's brakes failed tonight. But, now, he was really trying to avoid what Hafidha was saying to him. He didn't want to have to justify this again, to someone else.  
  
"--have to talk about this. If you're manifesting another active--"  
  
"I'm not, and we don't. Put everything back in your bag and call a cab. That's what we have to talk about. You're implicated in the Langly thing, and we're moving to a safehouse, for a while, so we don't get picked off one by one."  
  
There was the sound of Hafidha putting her hand over the phone, but she didn't mute it. "Hey, Doc, you know anything about a safehouse?"  
  
The reply was too muffled to make out, but Chaz suddenly knew where Hafidha was, and it wasn't Penny's. And this was something else he didn't have time for, right now. It had been less than twenty-four hours since a man he almost knew had tried to kill him in his own bedroom, and even though he'd slept, it still felt like the same day. Forty-something hours ago, he'd walked into the smell of roses, and he hadn't had room to breathe, since. There were worse things, and he knew there were worse things, having been reminded of them so recently, but that didn't really improve the situation he was in. And now Hafs had spent the night with Mary, he was pretty sure, and it wasn't his business, and it wasn't his problem, and he'd backed out of any stake in that, and it still felt like he'd been punched in several organs he was still using.  
  
"Where do you need us?" Hafidha asked, having correctly read the situation and decided not to make this more difficult than it had to be.  
  
"I'll text you from the next red light." He pushed, knowing he shouldn't. "We? Penny should be safe, but you _live with me_ , and I'm a target, so you're a target. And Frank needs your help with something."  
  
There was a long pause. "Penny was busy, last night. I'm with Mary in the million-dollar hotel room. I think this is bigger than our whole condo."  
  
Which was her way of telling him she'd slept on the couch, Chaz realised. "Good. Yes. Both of you-- You know what, the hotel's close. Grab your bags and wait for me in the lobby. I'm taking it on faith that my car isn't going to catch fire or spontaneously accelerate--"  
  
"Into an intersection. Is this that kind of problem?"  
  
"We're not sure. I hope not. But, we're looking at a history of people associated with the project dying in car accidents, with the occasional heart attack, and Frank and I are pretty sure it's mechanical, but ... Part of me is still incredibly aware of every Starbucks I pass." Chaz yawned, suddenly. "Sorry. I really need more sleep than I've had in the last few days."  
  
"Yeah, I've heard getting a new active ability will do that to you."  
  
"I haven't. I absolutely didn't."  
  
"Because making people do things they'd rather not is already on your list? You stopped a guy who already had a knife to your throat and a gun to Spencer's head by convincing him not to kill you, and I know you didn't do it with words, so cut the shit, Chaz."  
  
"He didn't want to kill me. He intended to kill me, but he didn't _want to_. He thought he was in love with me. You know what I can do with that. I didn't have to show him anything that wasn't already in his head. I don't like it, but I do like keeping my head attached, and I've got a lot worse than just 'cut myself shaving', right now, and I am not going to justify this another fucking time!" He took a deep breath. "I'm about two blocks from you. Take the stairs, because I'm not sure about the elevator, if they figured out Mary's there."

* * *

  
"Holy shit." Chaz stood in the doorway of an apartment on the third floor, taking in the view. A large, carpeted living room stretched to the windows beyond the probably-artificial wood entry and dining room, with the kitchen, bathroom, and one bedroom to one side and two more bedrooms to the other. The furniture looked comfortable, but nearly indestructible, and he wondered, briefly whether it would win against the windows, but given Langly's taste for security, probably not.  
  
"Blame B--" Langly coughed. "--Fitz. I just pay for things. It's not too bad, though, right? They're all like this, but the wheelchair apartments are off the lobby, because fuck trusting the elevator. I figured we'd do pretty good up here. We'll fit in one or two of these, and it keeps us in the middle of the building, from almost all sides."  
  
"Carpet." Reid sighed.  
  
"Yeah, but it's freshly installed carpet, so the only gross on it is what you put there." Langly elbowed him, with a lecherous grin. "You want to help me test the durability of the brand new carpet?"  
  
"Not... really, no." Reid eyed Langly without turning his head. "That sounds like an accident waiting to happen, and I prefer to keep my skin on my body, thanks." He rubbed his arm distractedly. "Speaking of which, is that the bathroom?"  
  
"If that's an invitation, you can leave your bag--"  
  
"It's not, and I can't." Reid bolted, bag in hand, the door not quite slamming behind him.  
  
" _He's_ in a rush," Mary nudged Chaz out of her way.  
  
"You should go after him," Chaz suggested, getting all the way out of the way, as he scratched at his own arm. "I'm pretty sure he's going to cut the stitches out."  
  
"Nah, he'll be fine. Another couple of days might've been better, but if they're itching, he's better off pulling them out before they end up getting swallowed by scar tissue. Of course if he'd waited and got them done by a doctor from this century, he would've gotten the dissolving stitches, and it wouldn't matter." Mary crossed to the windows and looked down into the street below. "I can't tell. It's really vertical, here. But, we're like... right in the middle of town, aren't we? Like, high-rent urban living..."  
  
"Those buildings are older. But, we are kind of in the middle of things. Not the middle middle, because the streets are--" Langly held up a hand and paused, trying a different angle. "It's not suburbia. And it's higher density than near the hotel. And don't stand so close to the window, because the glass may be bulletproof, but that involves handguns, not sniper rifles, and that would be a real shitty reason to have to replace the carpet in here."  
  
"Anybody ever tell you you're a real dick?" Hafidha asked, the laugh never making it out of her mouth as the door at the end of the hall opened, and a woman in a brightly-patterned, flowing dress started toward them. "Frank? Is this one of yours?"  
  
"Is what...?" Langly peered around the edge of the door and then stepped back into the hall, relief clear on his face. "Muringa! Did you get the--"  
  
The woman flicked a hand with yellow-patterned blue nails. "I got it all. I always get it all. Now how come you're here instead of Johnny?"  
  
"Johnny's got a girlfriend. I've got three fibbies, a chick from the CDC, and a burning need for a safehouse." Langly pulled out his phone and pretended to check it. "We powered on?"  
  
"Everything's ready, but it all feeds down to the desk. If you told me you needed it up here, I'd have hooked it into the other line!" Muringa put a hand on her wide hip and shot Langly an annoyed look.  
  
"I don't need it up here. I have it up here." Langly squinted at his phone, not seeing a single thing on the screen as he flipped through the cameras and the sensors. The alarm system had already been installed, and Muringa had just needed to add the cameras and adjust the sensor settings, and everything looked solid. He'd know if anything changed, if something stopped reporting, if the power dipped, if anything else touched the system, _he'd know_. Except he had to sleep, which was the other reason Hafidha was there. Between the two of them, they could keep a constant watch.  
  
"Those systems are separate for a reason, Mr Dickhead," Muringa chided him, and Mary burst out laughing.  
  
"That's it. That's what I'm calling you, now. 'Mr Dickhead'," she cackled.  
  
Langly leaned his forehead on the doorframe and sighed.  
  
"Johnny started it," Muringa said, rolling her eyes. "'I work with this dickhead,' he says to my sister."  
  
"That wasn't Johnny," Langly sighed. "Yeah, he was pretending to be Johnny, but Johnny doesn't say 'dickhead'. That's the other partner. The one you still haven't met."  
  
"I still don't know his name. I still don't know _your_ name. Just Johnny, and I like him."  
  
"I'd say you should call him Frank, like the rest of us do," Hafidha started, absently following Langly through the system, "but, I think you're right. Mr Dickhead is way more appropriate."  
  
"Hey!" Langly complained, with a horrified look over his shoulder.  
  
"My sister, she just calls him Dick, but he's the boss, so I figure I should be polite. Saying _Mr_ Dickhead shows a certain amount of respect," Muringa teased, patting Langly's shoulder. "Johnny, though. He won't look up, if you call him Mr Banner. You gotta call him Johnny, if you want him to mind you."  
  
And Hafidha held on to that. 'John Banner' for John Byers -- just close enough that he'd probably respond to it, though it seemed that hadn't worked, but far enough out that it wouldn't come up in a search for similar names.  
  
"So, you should go, before somebody decides to kill you, too." Langly raised his eyebrows expectantly.  
  
"Yeah, you're hanging around with a bad crowd," Mary joked. "We're all friends of Mr Dickhead, here."  
  
Muringa hooted with laughter. "Tell me, Mr Dickhead, does that somebody count you, too? If I step back a little, will I see the smoke rising?"  
  
"Unfortunately, he's not kidding," Hafidha said, after a moment. "I guess Frank and the Evil Twins pissed somebody off in Nebraska, and now there's an international consortium of really high-end assassins trying to kill us all and make it look like an accident."  
  
"I thought he was kidding about the assassins." Muringa shook her head. "What are we gonna do with you, Mr Dickhead?"  
  
Langly looked like he'd given up on arguing his name. After all, she'd been calling him that for years, but it was never in front of anyone, until now. "I'm going to stay here and play nice with the feds, for a while, and you should take the enormous bonus I promised you for coming out here and go to the Bahamas for a couple of weeks or something."  
  
"And who's gonna take Johnny's calls if I do?"  
  
"If you really want me to, I can send the calls to the Bahamas, too." Langly shrugged, eyeing Muringa with no small amount of concern.  
  
"Two weeks," Muringa said, with a hard look at Langly. "And I'm coming right back if you don't put the switchboard through. I know better than to let you boys answer your own calls. Let me guess: anybody asks for you, you're out of town and I don't know when you're coming back?"  
  
"No." A slow smile crept across Langly's face. "Tell them I'm here checking on things, then call me."


	5. Chapter 5

By Sunday, nothing had changed. Langly was on the phone with Muringa, as he sat on the couch between Reid and Villette, trying to get to his lunch before the cheese cooled. They'd been watching bad horror films for hours, just for something to do, and now the screen was full of paused zombies, which were a lot less convincing than zombies in motion.  
  
"What do you mean nobody's called? Nobody? I mean, I get we're not the most popular people in the state, but nobody? How the hell am I supposed to get somebody to try to kill me under controlled conditions, if they're not taking the bait?"  
  
Chaz snorted in amusement.  
  
"Are we sure I successfully forwarded everything?" Langly elbowed Chaz. "Call this number for me, so I can make sure I didn't screw up something I absolutely didn't screw up?"  
  
"Sure." Chaz pulled out his phone, unsurprised to find the number already entered, and hit 'call'. When Muringa answered, he said, "I'm just calling because Mr Dickhead wants to be sure the phone works," and fended off Langly's attempt to punch him in the arm, with his other hand.  
  
"You're never going to live that down. You know that right?" Reid looked up from the tablet he held, having finally, grudgingly gotten used to the thing. Dark mode was what he'd been missing, and once Langly had enabled it for him, he had to admit it was a lot lighter than carrying enough books to keep him occupied while they were here, even if he was in the habit of re-reading his favourites, regularly. He'd lose it when he got home. No one would ever know about this lapse in judgement. No one would ever expect him to become the kind of available the modern world so often demanded.  
  
"Great. That's exactly what I need. More insulting nicknames from the Federal Bureau of Imbeciles. Thought I got over that, fifteen years ago."  
  
"It just means we care," Chaz assured him, pocketing the phone again, just in time to hear it ring. "Besides, we didn't come up with it, your secretary did." He answered the phone. "Heard you got stuck on the Fonda thing."  
  
Reid leaned forward to see around Langly, suddenly paying attention. "Lau?"  
  
"Hang on, Nikki. I'm putting you on speaker. The braintrust is consulting, even if we're not supposed to be." Chaz put the phone on the coffee table.  
  
"Pleased to meet you again, Agent Lau," Reid said, politely, leaning closer to be sure he'd be heard. "If this is Fonda, then you're investigating the 'man turns into dirt' video, I'm guessing."  
  
"Thanks for the write-up, Reid. I'm not entirely sure what to do with the whole golem thing, though. That's..." Lau paused, considering where to begin. "On the one hand, an anomalous power that allows a person to change form would be... we haven't seen it to that extent, but that doesn't mean it's impossible. I'm just unclear on what benefit turning into a golem would bring. The Anomaly manifests in ways that initially _benefit_ a person."  
  
"The abdication of responsibility," Reid suggested. "A golem can't be held responsible for its own actions. It's the creator's duty to ensure it doesn't violate the laws or customs of the community. The golem merely exists to perform tasks the creator is unable or unwilling to, for whatever reason."  
  
"Like murdering an inconvenient contractor who's gotten out of hand?" Chaz eyed Reid curiously.  
  
"There _are_ cautionary tales of golems turning violent, but only rarely are they said to have been ordered to perform violent acts. Stories of golems protecting neighbourhoods are not uncommon, but they're rarely committing harm, in that context. More often they're preventing harm to others, by standing in the way or frightening the attackers. Which is to say, it's not impossible that Fonda became a golem assassin, but it's not high on my list."  
  
"It's the other possibility I'm calling about..." Lau trailed off.  
  
Reid's eyebrows drew together. "That it was faked, and the video was spliced in? I have an expert sitting next to me, if you want us to take a look."  
  
"Hi," Langly volunteered around a mouthful of mac and cheese.  
  
"It's already been looked at. Unfortunately, we're pretty sure it's real."  
  
Langly swallowed too fast, coughed, and sat up, dismissively waving the hand not holding the bowl. "Wait, wait, no. That's crazy. Send the-- no. Don't send it. Somebody call Montoya and give me the phone, and I'll get it myself. People don't just turn into dirt." He paused, tilting his head. "Of course, I also thought people didn't turn into _moths_ , so what the hell do I know?"  
  
"...Moths? That sounds like a wild story. Remind me to ask you about that, sometime." Lau chuckled. "No, the other possibility, Chaz, I'm calling _you_ about. Specifically. Because I don't want to put this in front of Falkner until you tell me it's not as crazy as I think it is. And that's Fonda was actually a golem, and that's why you didn't think he was anomalous. Because he _wasn't_. Someone else is. Tell me that's crazy. Tell me that is absolutely not what we're looking at."  
  
Chaz paused for a little too long. "It's not likely. We've seen psychokinesis -- people can move things with their minds, people can control puppets with their minds, but a _golem_? Fonda's very effectively been a real person since we brought him in, according to Montoya. We've also seen mind control, which might play a role here. And, of course, transforming the _victim_. Which would mean Fonda wasn't a golem, until someone, probably one of the lawyers, turned him into one, which was fatal."  
  
"Did you find anything in the dirt?" Reid asked.  
  
"Like a piece of metal with Hebrew letters on it? Didn't find that. Did find a capsule, like the ones used for implanted transmitters, but it's not giving off any signal. If there's anything written on or in it, it's not immediately obvious, but we're sending it to the lab, so they can figure out what it does. The dirt, too." Lau took a deep breath. "I'm not sure how far we're going to get, with this one. Fonda was an Italian citizen. The lawyers came from the embassy. Aside from the initial victims of the guy Fonda's supposed to have killed, no one involved in this case is even American or on American soil for an extended period. You know the embassy's going to stonewall, if we start asking about the lawyers. Every indication is that this started in Italy, and it's going to return to Italy, and all we have is a mystery victim who vanished into thin air and a killer who turned into dirt."  
  
"Vanished? What, Aurelio? Did he move out of that office?" Chaz looked surprised and glanced over at Reid, who shrugged. Right. Because he hadn't been there.  
  
"There is no office, Chaz. There's no blue door in that alley, and all three of you identified the same alley and the same door."  
  
"So we're off by a block. It was kind of a stressful night." Chaz shrugged.  
  
"We went door to door, asking about it, saying that there was a witness who'd identified a location in the neighbourhood by a blue door in an alley. We couldn't find it and nobody else had ever seen it, except a drunk who insisted it was in the same place you thought it was. But, there's no blue door there. There's no door at all."  
  
"Okay, I'll be the one to say it." Langly shoved the now-empty bowl onto the coffee table. "What the _hell_?"  
  
"No, not 'what the hell', 'What The Fuck', and we're already on the case." Chaz sighed, a pained look on his face. "Well, that's a power I didn't want confirmed."  
  
Reid blinked, remembering something. "He's always seen near a blue door, but the blue door isn't in the same place. The day I met him, I saw him go into a blue door, and it wasn't there by the time Montoya came down. But, there's always a blue door. That's what the street people say."  
  
"Wait, wait, wait, this guy just... teleported his office somewhere else?" Langly looked at Reid like he was out of his mind.  
  
"He's probably just moving the door," Chaz ventured. "I don't think there's a way to safely displace the amount of space that office takes up, and the door I saw probably cut into someone's kitchen, never mind the tulip garden outside the far window. So, he's probably not teleporting the office, but teleporting people _into_ his office, maybe?"  
  
"This opens up a whole new world of things nobody wanted to deal with, so thanks for that." Lau sighed. "I don't think this case is going anywhere for a while, if ever, but I'm going to stick it out, up here, until the lab results come back -- what kind of dirt is that and what's in the magic pill? You're back, tomorrow, right? So, if I call you, it's not going to be nearly as weird?"  
  
Chaz cleared his throat. "Actually, we're not sure, yet. Let's go with 'probably'. Right now, I'm... getting a death look from Frank. Assume I'll be in, and I'll tell you when I see you. Shit got a little weird, while I wasn't looking."  
  
"Chaz, everything gets weird, once you're involved. You're like Duke, but more subtle. Call me when you get in, and I'll tell you what we've got."  
  
"Can do." Chaz reached out and hung up.  
  
"Seriously, he moved the _door_?" Langly asked, looking from one fed to the other.  
  
"Pretty sure, yeah." Chaz picked up the remote to unpause the film, and Reid nodded.  
  
"I'm generally aware of it, when I'm hallucinating, so under the circumstances, it's relatively likely that he did, in fact, move the door, and that likelihood is increased by the fact that several other people saw that door somewhere else, and it's not there, now."  
  
"It's like an advanced version of what Jack was doing," Chaz decided, gesturing with the remote. "Jack was moving himself short distances, almost instantly. Aurelio's moving parts of the landscape unknown distances."  
  
"Aurelio, in theory, isn't losing the origin," Reid pointed out. "When Jack moved, he stopped being where he was and started being somewhere else. Aurelio's door is in two places at once. It has to be if you could see the office, when he opened it, but before you passed through it."  
  
"But, that's--" Langly held up a finger and grinned as his phone rang. Finally. "Yeah? ... Who? Oh, Dr Alfarsi's partner. Yeah. Put him through. That's important." He pointed to the phone. "It's the lab." A brief pause, and then, "Dr Benally, what have you got?"  
  
Langly slowly straightened, eyes rounding. "Listen, I'm going to put you on speaker, because I'm sitting here with two feds, and-- What? No, you're not in trouble. I hope you're not in trouble. You didn't do it, right? No, the samples were part of a case and I trust you guys way more than the fed labs. Here, hang on, let me just--" Langly put his phone on the table, where Chaz's had been. "Now, tell them what you told me."  
  
"Jasmine is dead. She fell off the balcony of her apartment, last night. The police don't know if it's an accident or a suicide, but I'm having some trouble finding the work she was doing for you. I know she wasn't working on anything else -- this had become her dedicated research project. She said it was going to change the world. I can't imagine her giving it up. It must be here somewhere. And she was so pleased to have the project, so excited at what she was finding... It must have been an accident. I can't imagine it was anything else."  
  
Chaz cleared his throat. "Dr Benally, I'm Agent Chaz Villette, and it's my case. Do the police have any suspicion this might have been a murder? If they don't, you need to mention that her most recent project is missing."  
  
"I'm sure she just put it--"  
  
"The case involves the supposedly accidental deaths of a large number of medical and scientific personnel, about thirty years ago, and I'm afraid this may be connected."  
  
"My god, did you tell her this? Did you tell her she was walking into a death trap? You didn't tell me!"  
  
"Hey, back off, it's been _thirty years_ ," Langly snapped. "Who the hell kills people thirty years later? Everyone involved in the original project is either dead or like eighty! We were just cleaning up what was left."  
  
"I'm more concerned that anyone knew she was working on it." Chaz looked down the couch at Langly and then Reid. "The project was classified. The information we sent had sample numbers, but no names. It's the names that would most likely have drawn attention. And the nature of the tests... we're looking for a genetic marker that no one has ever been able to find. As far as we know, it doesn't exist. So, she was looking for a point of similarity in eighteen numbered samples, plus the sequences we passed on from another lab that didn't have anyone suddenly get murdered, but also didn't have the time to keep working on it or the particular expertise of Dr Alfarsi. We had absolutely no reason to believe that Dr Alfarsi or your lab were in any danger."  
  
Reid made a gesture for a pencil, looking around for something to write on, and Langly tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the tablet in his lap. He rolled his eyes and opened a note. ' _They stopped looking for us and hit the lab, first. We're not nearly as dangerous, without that information. That's why they're not here._ '  
  
"Well, you were _wrong_ ," Dr Benally hissed.  
  
"Again, how did anyone _know_?" Reid asked, and then realised he hadn't introduced himself. "SSA Dr Spencer Reid, also working on this project. But, there are dozens of labs doing overflow work on hundreds of cases, pretty much all the time. This request, in particular, wouldn't have stood out."  
  
"It doubly wouldn't have stood out, because it wasn't labelled for the fibbies. _Mary_ passed it on. It looks like a request from another lab, possibly the CDC. There's nothing that connects it to _this case_. Well, nothing except the part where I called Alfarsi and cleared it with her, before we sent it. And was she calling me? Yes, she was calling me, but I sent her _other_ samples months before, and there were some real serious questions about the results, there..." Langly trailed off. "Oh, shit. It's not the second set, it's the _first set_." He swallowed hard. "Dr Benally, I know you weren't looking for those, but did you find anything under--" He rattled off a number.  
  
"I wasn't looking. I was just trying to find your project so I could send as much as she'd gotten, so you could send it to another lab. What was the other set of samples?" Dr Benally asked, his curiosity temporarily overriding his better judgement.  
  
"Just a basic check to see if two people were related, on their father's side. It, ah... She probably showed you that one. We were all a little confused by the results." Langly tipped his head. "A lot confused."  
  
"The contaminated samples."  
  
"Yeah, that's the confusion. They weren't contaminated. And they led directly to the second project."  
  
Dr Benally scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous, Mr Arroway. Of course they were. They had to be. The results were impossible."  
  
"I could explain this to you, but it's probably what Dr Alfarsi got killed over," Langly warned.  
  
"Frank, he's Alfarsi's partner. He's probably already in danger," Chaz pointed out.  
  
"Give me the project, Mr Arroway," Benally demanded, suddenly. "It may have been Jasmine's speciality, but I'm not terrible at this. If we find the markers you're looking for, it becomes a moot point, right? Once we reveal the secret, there's no more reason to come after us, is there?"  
  
"Dr Benally, I can't, in good conscience, advise this." Reid sat forward. "From what I understand, Dr Alfarsi was at the top of her field, and she was working on something that several other geneticists had already given up as a lost cause. But, someone, somewhere, seems to believe there is something to be discovered, here, and they don't want it found. That, or they're afraid we'll release proof of what we already know they've done."  
  
"If you're right, I'm already in danger. This doesn't sound like something I can just back out of." Benally paused. "Jasmine believed in the importance of what she was doing for you. I didn't ask too many questions, because I knew she couldn't tell me. But, what I do know is that she was studying something that might fundamentally alter what we believed to be possible. And I believe in Jasmine. And if it is the last thing I do, I want to prove her right."  
  
"Has your company done a press release about her death, yet?" Chaz asked, thinking quickly.  
  
"No, there hasn't been time. I thought we'd send something out in the morning, the first business day after... Why?"  
  
"Because I want you to do two things to protect yourself and the rest of your lab. I want you to announce that her projects are being distributed to other labs, and then I want you to make that happen. I know she wasn't actively working on anything, but if she had any pending projects or things she was negotiating for, make sure all of it goes somewhere else. And you can't work this exclusively. Someone will notice. If you're going to do this, continue doing what you'd usually do, but cut down on those things. Blame it on the loss of Dr Alfarsi. Let people assume that you're grieving, and it's affecting your work, rather than that you've taken on another project."  
  
"We don't even have the project," Langly pointed out. "Her files are gone, remember?"  
  
"They may not be entirely gone. If nothing else, we have what she sent to you and Dr Langly, which won't be everything, but it will definitely be more than we have, right now. Let me finish this project, Mr Arroway. I don't want you to be right. I want to be angry that you brought this on us. I want to be angry that you got Jasmine killed. But, if it's true-- if other labs have worked on this with no harm to their staff, if there has been no violence to people seeking this answer for thirty years, then none of us could have known. And now we have to do something to make it stop." Benally paused, contemplatively. "What were you looking for, anyway?"  
  
"The marker for a rare disease. It's usually fatal, and it has some really weird side effects. But, we got samples from a group of people who have it, and they're all... ah... very closely related, and then we sent the sequences from another group who aren't related, but they have it. That second group is the set that's been worked on, before. We thought it would be easier if we knocked out some of the other variables, so that's the first set, but the first set also contains the impossible samples. Actually, the first set is entirely impossible samples." Langly cleared his throat. "Like I said, they're very closely related."  
  
"They'd be identical twins, but there's too much variance for that, and not enough for regular siblings. I really think the samples cross-contaminated."  
  
"I swear that didn't happen identically, multiple times. No, they're... As far as we can tell, they're edited clones. The first pair are fifteen years apart. There's at least seventeen of them, spanning about twenty-five years."  
  
"That's insane. That's not-- who told you that? That's impossible." Benally laughed. "Human clones? We're not... we're nowhere near reproducing human beings viably. And it's completely illegal, in this country. No, Mr Arroway, someone is playing some sort of joke on you."  
  
"Look at Dr Alfarsi's work, and then tell me I'm crazy. It's there, Benally, and that is why people got killed over this. It's not supposed to be possible. That's the point. There's something wrong here, and if these people aren't clones, there's something even more wrong. But, if you don't want it because it's crazy, then send me anything that's left of Dr Alfarsi's notes, and we'll do this another way."  
  
"Who took the samples?"  
  
"Dr Alfarsi took two of the initial samples, herself, after we got the weird results, the first time. Dr Langly took the others in that set, with witnesses. They were sealed, iced, and Fed-Ex'd same day." Langly took a breath. "I've seen the clones. They're almost identical, except the way they dress and wear their hair. They've all got the same glasses prescription. You should've seen their faces when they finally met each other. None of us believed it was real, until we were all in the same room. And, they're all from the same part of Nebraska, and their mothers all used the same doctor to help them get pregnant. That doctor and his entire clinic staff are now dead, and they all died within six months of the clinic closing."  
  
"This still sounds crazy," Benally protested.  
  
"I can send you parts of the documentation, if it helps," Chaz offered. "Not all of it, obviously, but enough to make the point. It's public information, but it would take longer for you to find it than it took us. You're welcome to verify it with your own research, but doing so may bring the killers back faster."  
  
"All you're interested in is the marker for a heritable disease, right?" Benally asked. "So, it's not really relevant who these people are, except that they've been tested and found to have the disease."  
  
"I agree." Reid looked for a cup of coffee that still had something in it, but came up empty. "We can assure you the samples we sent were not contaminated, and Dr Alfarsi, herself, confirmed the first two samples of that set were genuine and uncontaminated, despite the results. The other sequences are obviously from entirely unrelated people, and there's not really any cause to doubt the lab that did the initial work. All we need to know is whether you can find a marker that might indicate Gates Metabolic Disorder."  
  
"I'll need more information on the disease. I've never heard of that one."  
  
"We can send you some research on the subject, but people who have it exhibit unusual brain activity and require two to three times the calories of other people their age to maintain that. There's also evidence that most people with this condition heal very quickly, and are able to recover from injuries that should have resulted in death. I'm not saying they're immortal, because they're not, but they're a lot more resistant to trauma," Chaz explained.  
  
"Which is where the energy is going," Benally said, as if it were the obvious conclusion. "No, that does make sense. The body is functionally accelerated, in some areas, and that has a cost. And you say no one's been able to find a genetic component? Are we certain it's heritable and not environmental? Families living in the same area for multiple generations might give the impression of heritability for something that's actually environmental."  
  
"It's a combination," Chaz told him. "Exposure to certain things can trigger it in people who don't have a familial history, but a parent with it is a guaranteed predisposition, and some people are born with it already partially manifested."  
  
"Yes, and you can also be born with _herpes_. That doesn't mean it has a genetic component."  
  
"That was our conclusion after the first study. The clones convinced us to take another look, since they obviously weren't exposed in utero. None of the parents are symptomatic, but a large number of the children have been since adolescence or younger, with some who have developed the disease only later in life. I'm fairly certain all of them will develop it, in time, and I'd really like to be able to point to something and say 'this is it; this is why'."  
  
"That's what we all want, and it's never easy. It takes years to figure out what combination, or worse, _combinations_ , are responsible for any condition. There are things we're absolutely certain are heritable, and we still can't find them. And dealing with a new, rare condition, there's an extremely limited pool of samples. I can tell you right now we're not likely to find what you're looking for, but we may find symptom-related _damage_. And in this case, I suspect that's almost as good. It's not a cause, but it's a very definite indicator that the abnormality you're looking for has occurred."  
  
"We call it the Anomaly," Chaz admitted. "It's weird, and we can't find it. It's as good a name as any."  
  
"The Anomaly! I like that. It sounds like a sci-fi film." Benally laughed, then cleared his throat. "This honestly seems like relatively harmless disease research, for the most part, aside from the part about the supposed clones. Do you know who's trying to stop the research?"  
  
"It's a group of eugenicists--" Reid started, and Benally's sigh cut him off.  
  
"Oh, brother. Those people. I don't know all the groups, but those people are all weird. It's great to want to get rid of heritable diseases like certain cancers and diabetes -- nobody wants those -- but when you start trying to design the perfect human, it goes from 'stop disease' to 'genocide' in a real hurry. Yeah, I'll take the project. How soon can you get me what you have?"  
  
"I can send it tomorrow," Langly assured him. "I just have to talk to Dr Langly, first, and work out a safe way to send it."  
  
"I'll get that press release started, and see if I can find anything with Jasmine's name on it to send out for processing. I'll call her clients in the morning. I just had a feeling I'd catch you, tonight."  
  
"We work weird hours, here."


	6. Chapter 6

On Sunday, everything changed. By Tuesday, everything was on fire.  
  
Reid wasn't in the habit of answering the phone during dinner, but living with two gammas meant every hour was the dinner hour for someone, and Prentiss wouldn't stop calling, which meant it was an emergency, and he was probably going to be flying out, in the next hour.  
  
"What's the case? You talk, I'm going to mute myself and finish eating."  
  
"It's not a case, Spencer. I'm calling because you're not home." Prentiss took a long breath, and didn't start the next sentence.  
  
Reid swallowed and took the phone off mute. "You know I'm not home. I told you that, yesterday, when I asked about safer parking. Why does me not being home-- _What happened to my apartment?_ "  
  
Langly appeared in the kitchen as if summoned, and Chaz started putting away the leftovers.  
  
"Nothing! And hopefully, it's going to stay that way!" Prentiss paused again. "Narcisse escaped, last night. I just found out."  
  
" _How?_ " Reid demanded, the spoon slipping out of his other hand and clattering to the plate.  
  
"I'll start at the beginning, because all of this is relevant. She changed her plea to guilty -- which I think you knew, and I still don't understand it, unless it was a setup for this -- and repeatedly stated during interviews that, given the chance, she'd make another attempt to kill Frank -- who she continues to insist is Richard Langly -- and that this time, she'd kill you first and make him watch. Obviously, her lawyers objected to all of this, but eventually, she fired them and continued to insist on taking a guilty plea for attempted murder, because, as she said, that's exactly what she did. So, no jury trial, but she still had to be brought to court for sentencing."  
  
"Oh, no." Reid squeezed his eyes shut.  
  
"Nope, not then. _After_ she was brought into the prison. The same day. Something went wrong with the systems and the entire prison went into lockdown for no apparent reason. And then her door unlocks and opens, and she walks out, the connecting doors opening right before she gets to them and closing behind her. The video was left running for some reason, and she looks incredibly surprised by the whole thing, but she's clearly not unwilling to take advantage of the situation. It took most of the morning to get the system back under control and get rescuers into the prison."  
  
"So, what you're telling me is that she pleaded guilty, and very effectively, after months of not only pleading innocent but pressing counter-charges, and as soon as she's transferred to another facility, someone on the outside breaks in and lets her out. And she's coming after me." Reid nodded slowly, eyes still closed. "It's Tuesday, right? It feels like a Tuesday."  
  
"Don't go home, Spencer. And maybe don't come in, tomorrow, either. There's no reason she'd know where to find you, where you are, right now, and as long as you don't go anywhere she's expecting to see you, she can't follow you back."  
  
"That's the best reason to come into work that I've ever heard. I _want_ her to follow me back."  
  
"She's not trying to make it look like an accident," Prentiss pointed out. "I'm pretty sure we're looking at another abduction/torture scenario, and I think you've had enough of those, for one lifetime."  
  
"She's not going to get the chance. She's threatened my life on record, _recently_. I have no intention of letting her within ten feet of me, and every intention of _shooting her_. And I will be correct in doing so, even with premeditation. She is a self-admitted murderer, who has stated she is coming to my residence, to finish the job and then kill my boyfriend. If she's close enough that I can unmistakeably identify her, it's self-defence."  
  
"You'd have a better time selling that if you didn't come to work, already knowing she's after you and that you're in the safest possible place."  
  
"I need some things from my desk," Reid ground out, knowing she was right.  
  
"Stay where you are, Spencer. Do not come in." Prentiss ordered, speaking slowly and clearly. "I hear you. I absolutely understand what you're trying to do, and why you're trying to do it, and I am telling you not to do it. We'll get her at your apartment, because it's the first place she's going to try."  
  
"Which is why she's already been there, and discovered I'm not there." Reid looked up as Langly tapped him on the shoulder, pointed at the phone, and gave a wide-eyed nod, mouthing the word 'okay'. Reid huffed. "Fine. Fine. I'm not coming in. But, if she comes here, I am not going to negotiate."  
  
"That's fine. If she finds you where you are, do whatever you think is necessary. Do you need backup?"  
  
"No, I've got everything I need." Reid paused. "Has anyone contacted Lisa Ortiz? Kimmy and Olivia Belmont?"  
  
"Garcia's making hand gestures at me, so I think Lisa's on her way here. It's not the best answer, but it's safer than leaving her at home. And the prison notified the Belmonts."  
  
"Good. If she can't get to me, Ortiz is probably her next target."  
  
"And she can't get to you. She has no idea where you are, so she's probably going to keep circling your favourite places until you show up in one of them." Prentiss paused. "Okay, I have to go. I've got another call from the prison. I'll keep you updated."  
  
Reid put down his phone and took a long, slow breath.  
  
Langly grinned. "Turn on your GPS."

* * *

  
"I remember this case. This is the one with the photographer stalking you, right?" Hafidha poured herself onto the couch next to Chaz with a mixing bowl full of frozen M&Ms.  
  
"Bollinger was late in the game, but yes." Reid sat in a kitchen chair angled at one end of the couch, so the three gammas could sit by the food. "Narcisse had a vendetta against anyone she perceived as having come between her and her dream of marrying one of the Belmont twins."  
  
Langly rolled his eyes. "Yeah, except she wanted Jimmy, and Jimmy was both married and dead."  
  
"So, when the announcement of _Kimmy_ Belmont's engagement happened," Reid went on, "she took it upon herself to kill everyone he was ever rumoured to have slept with. Frank was one of the last on the list, second only to, by that point, Kimmy's wife, Olivia."  
  
"So, what, she's after you because you stopped her from killing him?" Mary asked, sneaking a handful of M&Ms while everyone's eyes were on Reid.  
  
"Pretty much." Langly nodded, pointing at Reid. "She broke into _his_ apartment to kill _me_ , but I was on the phone in the bathroom, because I didn't want to wake him up, and she almost killed him because he wouldn't tell her where I was. She got off at least one shot at me, before he choked her out with a pair of pyjama pants, and here we are."  
  
"What I'm interested in, here, is why she suddenly changed her story." Reid sat back and rested the bottom of his foot against the edge of the coffee table. "From the time of the first interview, she'd been accusing me of sexual assault, which was an effort to get _his_ DNA tested from the samples on the chair. When that didn't pan out the way she expected, she held on to it, trying to discredit me. If she'd succeeded, there's a chance she might have gone free by claiming the bullet was fired in self-defence, and I'd be out of her way when she came back. Unfortunately for her, the inconsistencies in her story were severe enough to give almost everyone pause, and there was no way she was going to win at trial. But, for whatever reason, she wouldn't give up that claim. Her entire defence was based on it, until she called Grafton over in OPR and told him she'd been lying. Grafton swears he had no idea she would call, but there's a video of him interviewing her and giving her his card. He's been put on leave, and he might not be coming back. Something happened there. Something changed enough that a month after that, she changed her plea to guilty. And I can't figure out why."  
  
Hafidha's eyes flicked to Chaz and then to Langly. She knew exactly what had happened, and she wasn't saying a word.  
  
"So, we assume it's because she was plotting her escape?" Mary asked, licking candy stains off her fingers. "She knew someone who could get her out, but not where she was, so she had to plead guilty to get transferred?"  
  
"It's kind of where I'm going with that, and my first suspicion is that someone impersonated Agent Grafton to start that process."  
  
Langly closed his eyes. "This started before we were even in Nebraska. This is _why_ we were in Nebraska. Well, why _you_ were. Which means that even though I think she's absolutely Bedlam material, there's no reason he'd be using her to get to us."  
  
"Bedlam as in Kim of Bedlam? He doesn't want her. Bedlam's boys are _boys_. Last time I heard anything, all of his known operatives were men." Hafidha poured a handful of M&Ms into her mouth and raised her eyebrows at Langly.  
  
"How the hell do you know that? Nobody knows that!"  
  
"I used to be Secret Service," Hafidha mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate, one hand making sure she didn't drop any of it in her lap. "They're an international terrorist group with a high rate of success, so they came up occasionally. They're also supposedly good for some of the most inexplicable computer crimes on the planet, things I could do now, but not when I heard about them."  
  
"Hardly _terrorists_ ," Reid argued. "From what I understand, they don't take credit for anything, and they don't make public spectacles. In order to be terrorists, they'd need to inspire terror. People would have to know who they are, to be afraid of them, or at least be aware that some nameless group is actively threatening them or endangering their safety."  
  
Hafidha shook her head and swallowed, rinsing out her mouth with coffee. "They're primarily involved with international political targets and private groups with international interests, so because some percentage of their jobs are political hits, and those are the ones Intelligence actually gives a shit about, they're terrorists. Which is a stupid-ass explanation and we both know it. But, they're considered terrorists, and nobody knows who they are, because none of them have ever been taken alive. The dead ones are all men, though, which was the point."  
  
"That doesn't mean he doesn't hire women, that just means you haven't killed any of them," Langly pointed out.  
  
"It's kind of suggestive, though." Chaz shrugged. "But, the timing's wrong to be Bedlam either way, unless one of two things is happening: either Grafton is completely unrelated or Bedlam was interested in her for other reasons. Possibly both."  
  
"Why would Grafton be unrelated? You can't think--" Reid caught the faintest flicker of something Chaz didn't want to show him. " _What did you do?_ "  
  
Chaz wanted to lie. More than anything, he didn't want to admit he'd been involved at all, but he knew he couldn't lie to Reid. Not effectively. Not in a way that wouldn't completely destroy the understanding they had. "I promise you Grafton is not going to be fired. He's on psych leave, for a few weeks. He's taking a vacation with his wife and kids. As far as anyone's concerned, it's a minor stress burnout, and he honestly forgot. They're doing some bran scans to make sure there's no permanent damage, and he's just supposed to take it easy for a couple of months."  
  
"That's not an answer. What did you do?"  
  
"I borrowed his face. It made sense for him to interview your supposed victim, and he hadn't done it, so I did it for him. I promise you the only thing I did was take advantage of her need to be seen, recognised, and valued for her own achievements. I leaned into that, very gently. That's why there's what... three days? four? between the interview and when she called Grafton. All I did was encourage her to tell the truth -- to brag about it, really. And I don't know what happened, that night. I have not seen it from anyone who was there. Not from you, not from her. All I know is that whatever the truth is, she probably expects to be recognised for her role in it. _That_ is what I did."  
  
Hafidha nodded as she swallowed again, pointing at Chaz. "Wonder Woman."  
  
Langly opened his mouth and words fell out of it. "Pretty sure Wonder Woman doesn't have a dick that big."  
  
"Pretty sure Wonder Woman doesn't have a dick," Mary chimed in from the chair at the other end of the couch.  
  
"You don't know that! Don't be rude! She could!" Langly protested.  
  
Reid continued to stare directly at Chaz, half expecting him to look away. "You didn't tell me any of this."  
  
"You're right. I didn't. And I still didn't. You can't know this, and you know why you can't know this." Chaz stared right back, but Reid could see the uncertainty behind his eyes. "Especially then, while they were investigating you for interference. You couldn't know. You had to honestly have no fucking idea what was happening."  
  
"Why would you do this? What could possibly make you think you needed to get involved?" Reid's hands clenched in his lap, his eyes like ice.  
  
"You'd already left on a case. We weren't going to tell you what was happening, until you got back, and then you ended up in Nebraska. You know that someone stole your entire personnel file, including things like your mother's contact information. We could make sure we cleaned that up. We could make sure they didn't get back in..." Chaz held up a hand. "Okay, look. I was angry. I was furious. And I knew I could stop all of this in its tracks. I could make it all stop, and all I needed was a few hours. I took half a day of sick time to see Narcisse. I also put a stop to Bollinger's bullshit stalking, by reminding him of his visions of journalistic integrity. Frain was even easier. I didn't need to change her mind at all; I just needed to show her the evidence and ask her what happened. I could do that for you. I could do that without introducing any falsehoods into the record, besides my own identity. And I was pissed as hell. And maybe it wasn't the brightest idea I've ever had, but it made it a lot harder for her to get to you, for a while, at least."  
  
"And now she's coming after me. So, really, good job."  
  
"Hey, no." Langly sat forward and waved to get Reid's attention. "She's coming after you because some other shithead, unrelated to any of this, let her out of prison. Just her. Which I still think is evidence of Bedlam's involvement. And she's coming after me, too. And you know what it's going to look like, if she gets us? _A horrible accident_."  
  
"I'm pretty sure torturing me to death and then shooting you doesn't come off as an _accident_ ," Reid snapped, increasingly sure he'd entirely lost control of his life and everything in it.  
  
"Yeah, it does," Hafidha nodded slowly. "Because it's not the case they're trying not to connect it to. You have a pre-existing murderous stalker. She happened to escape from prison and kill you? Horrible accident, _totally unrelated_ to anything else you're working on."  
  
"You had to _fix things_ ," Reid spat, still furious. "You couldn't just call me and let me know what was happening. You had to go behind my back to try to fix my problems for me."  
  
"Spencer, you were on a case. You were not available to handle anything else. It's not that you couldn't have been looking after your own interests if you were home, it's that you _weren't home_. The damage that would've been done if I'd done nothing far exceeds--" Chaz drew a sharp breath and recoiled, eyes fluttering shut.  
  
"Stop that." Langly was on his feet in an instant. "That wasn't just his decision, it was mine, too."  
  
Hafidha waved from between Langly's legs and Chaz's shoulder. "I was pretty sure of what he was doing, even if I didn't know, and I let it happen!"  
  
But, Reid wasn't looking at any of them. He was looking at his hands, in confusion. "This isn't me. I'm upset, but I'm not _that_ upset."  
  
"Okay, this is a problem, but it's not the problem we need to deal with first." Hafidha nudged Langly out of her way, toward Reid. "We're staying here, because your boss said so, but your GPS is on, so we're assuming she's coming anyway. If I see Narcisse, do I shoot her?"  
  
"Yes." The response was instant.  
  
"Do I shoot to kill?"  
  
Here, Reid paused, still watching his own hands. Finally, he looked up. "You take the shot you have."  
  
"Okay." Hafidha nodded. "Frank? You watching the network?"  
  
"Yeah." Langly lingered awkwardly at Reid's side, unable to figure out if he was supposed to be touching him.  
  
"Give it to me." Hafidha wiggled her fingers in his direction. "Girl Genius and I will keep an eye on things, while the three of you figure out what the hell just happened, and whether I have to worry that Disturbingly Normal over there just converted."  
  
"I didn't." Reid slowly raised his hands to his face, patting it as if to make sure it was real.  
  
"That wasn't him," Chaz said, quietly. "That was me."  
  
"We have to stop doing that." Reid wrapped his arms around himself and shook his head, looking down again.  
  
Mary looked around the room, at the faces of everyone else who clearly knew what was going on. "Uh, you'll excuse me, but _what the fuck_?"


	7. Chapter 7

Langly shrugged at his cousin, and tried to keep the damage to a minimum. "I told you. They're reading each other's minds. They do that."  
  
"I can show people things they already know," Chaz admitted, trying to explain enough without explaining too much. There were things he wasn't going to admit to. "Amplifying relevant memories, like using a makeup mirror to find your zits. I don't do it often. It's a professional skill."  
  
"Except with me." Reid raised a hand, but still didn't look up. "We've been experimenting with the limits of what can be accomplished with a knowing and consenting partner. But, there's... I really thought we fixed that. Sometimes, when we're both upset, he'll subconsciously offload his anger at himself onto me. Something didn't feel right, so I pushed him away."  
  
"So, you're not pissed at him, he's pissed at himself, and you're yelling at him for himself." Mary squinted at Chaz, and then shot Hafidha a plaintive look. "What?"  
  
Hafidha shook her head. "That's a new one on me. Maybe you should stop, Chaz."  
  
"No." Both of them answered at once.  
  
Reid shook his head. "It's fine. We'll get it. And I _am_ upset. I'm genuinely pissed off, but I don't actually hold Chaz responsible for the escape. No one could've foreseen that. _Narcisse_ didn't see that coming. And I know that not telling me what was going on isn't about whether I can take care of myself, it's about not disrupting the concentration of an agent in the field. You knew you could take care of it without bothering me, and I didn't find out faster, because I didn't actually go home, after the case, and then things got even more complicated. I know how this happened, for the most part. I'm still not entirely okay with you doing that to other people who aren't an immediate threat."  
  
"You weren't there." Chaz nudged the edges of Reid's mind until he looked up. "The threat was absolutely immediate, and I had reason to believe it wasn't going to be _you_ , it was going to be your _family_. I did the best I could come up with on short notice. It was the difference between you coming home to there was almost a serious problem and you coming home to reporters camped out on your parents' doorsteps demanding to know how they feel about their son being a drug-crazed murderer. _At best_. At best, it would be reporters."  
  
"I'm still not sure it's okay, but _we're_ okay." Reid managed something that might have been a smile in other circumstances. "We're okay because you're more bothered by what you did than I am."  
  
"Did I mention how angry I was, when I made that decision?" Chaz stretched a hand across his eyes and sighed.  
  
Hafidha pointed at Chaz. "He didn't kill anyone. Be proud of him."  
  
"No," Chaz protested. "I do not get a cookie for not turning into a serial killer. Don't set the bar that low." He looked back at Reid. "I didn't know what else to do."  
  
"Reflexively, I want to say 'nothing', but on some level I know you're right." Reid held out a hand to Chaz. "I don't like it, but if I haven't come up with anything better in the last ten minutes, I can't expect you to, either. And something did need to be done."  
  
"Okay, so, what's wrong with 'arrest the motherfuckers'?" Mary asked. "Because where I'm from, that sounds like it would solve the problem."  
  
"You have to be able to demonstrate wrongdoing to get a warrant," Hafidha pointed out. "In order to demonstrate wrongdoing, I'd have to have gone about tracing that the appropriate and time-consuming way, which wouldn't have been fast enough to get an answer. Yeah, we didn't really talk about me, but I do networks and data, like your cousin. And the only person we'd have been able to arrest was already in jail."  
  
"But, you said there were two other people..."  
  
"There's a very short list of things you can legitimately go after a journalist for, and because of certain statutes protecting whistleblowers, there's a good chance this doesn't qualify. And even if it does, that is a short connecting flight between bad press and worse press, because then it's a coverup." Chaz shook his head, still holding tightly to Reid's hand. And Frain... Frain's just not that good at what she does, yet, but all I did was _talk to her_. Nobody had taken the time to sit down and _show her_ why she was wrong. She didn't do anything illegal; she was just a pain in the ass."  
  
Langly sputtered. "She was facilitating an illegal conspiracy to commit libel and possibly murder."  
  
"Yeah, but she didn't know that." Chaz shrugged.  
  
"Because she's not real bright," Hafidha added.  
  
"Okay, okay, so immoral but not illegal, then, for the most part." Mary looked around for disagreement. "Except for the girl who's too stupid to know what she's doing and the one who's already in jail. So, actually mostly illegal, except for the journalist. But, you can't arrest them because one's already in jail, one's too stupid to know what she's doing, and the journalist is a journalist and that's not gonna go. So, how the hell does reminding people of what they already know solve any of that? Because I think making them forget would work a hell of a lot better."  
  
"Yeah, but I can't do that." Chaz shrugged again. Actually, he probably could do that, but he didn't want to develop that skill. "What I _can_ do is remind people of their ideals. Like, with Bollinger, I could push standards of journalistic integrity, things that used to matter to him. Narcisse's entire problem is that she craves recognition for her work, for _herself_ , and I reminded her that in order to be recognised, one has to be seen."  
  
"So, you're not making them do stuff, you're just adjusting their existing priorities, which makes them act different." Mary paused, considering it. "Which is totally still making them do stuff, it's just stuff they'll be able to justify to themselves, later."  
  
Chaz slightly derailed the conversation, with the thing that had been bothering him. "I didn't expect her to plead guilty. That was just... I don't know how the hell that happened. I expected her to tell the truth, insist she was in the right, and go to trial. That would've been consistent with everything up to that point."  
  
"Okay, so... what does she get, if she pleads guilty?" Langly asked, jamming a foot between Reid's ankles and pulling his leg to the side, to sit on. "She gets out, but we know she wasn't expecting that, right?"  
  
"We know she looks surprised, according to Prentiss, who may not have actually seen the video. This is third-hand. She may just be cautious," Reid pointed out, shifting to better balance Langly and wrapping his free arm around Langly's waist. "But, let's assume she isn't expecting it. What else does she gain?"  
  
"She's not going to be watched as closely," Chaz ventured. "I had a chat with the warden, when I went to visit her, and presented the evidence we had, such as it was, that she'd managed to violate the no electronics order. So, a transfer anywhere was likely to put her in reach of guards who hadn't been punished for helping her."  
  
"She's still after _us_ , though, and she has to have figured out she wasn't getting anywhere with Bollinger, especially after Frain stopped visiting." Langly reached out toward Hafidha, who held the bowl in his reach. "You kind of cut her off at the knees. Which is good! Except it didn't work, because she moved, and that opened up--"  
  
"No." Reid shook his head. "Whether Chaz's precautions would've continued to work or not after she was transferred, is the eternal unknown. She was only there for a few hours. Someone on the outside -- or more likely someone working there -- let her out."  
  
"Working there is a pretty good guess." Chaz nodded. "There's at least three separate networks in play, and the one with the doors on it doesn't connect to anything outside the walls."  
  
Hafidha pointed at Langly. "He could get into it."  
  
Langly blinked rapidly, his spine straightening. "Don't even joke about that."  
  
"There's two of us, Frank. We're a little different, sure, but there's a lot of overlap in the middle. Three of us is not a stretch."  
  
"Why's that more likely than someone on the inside, though? Like, who says she didn't bribe somebody or something before she got there? Or that someone else didn't bribe somebody for her?" Mary got up and gestured at the other four. "Keep talking. I'm making a grilled cheese. Anybody else want one?"  
  
Every hand went up except Reid's. He looked at Langly in his lap and then offered Mary an awkward smile. "I'd raise my hand, but they're both occupied."  
  
"Five grilled cheese sandwiches, coming up." Mary ducked around the end of the wall, into the kitchen.  
  
"So, it's not actually more likely," Hafidha explained, leaning back over the arm of the couch, so she'd be clearer in the kitchen. "In fact, it's mostly implausible. But, we still have to consider it, because we know it's possible, and Chaz has met more anomalous people in the last six months than we have in the last six years. The circumstances really add some weight."  
  
"There are only two ways into that system," Chaz agreed, nodding. "There's Frank's way, or there's someone involved on the inside. Okay, there are other anomalous ways to get the doors to unlock, but let's assume 'it's anomalous' counts as one way, for right now."  
  
"Not to derail the conversation, but how good are the cameras, here?" Reid asked, looking nervously toward the closed window blinds behind him.  
  
"There are a few places I can't see, but none of them are near each other. You have to pass through something I can see to get there. I couldn't get enough good cameras, that fast, but she's not going to get past enough of them that we won't see her coming." Langly rested his cheek against Reid's forehead. "Hey, we're here, and we've got this."  
  
"Six hour shifts?" Hafidha asked, holding the bowl out of Chaz's limited reach.  
  
Langly made an agonised sound. "Yeah, okay. But, only because I know we're not both going to be functional when she gets here, if we're doing twelve, and _I can't shoot her_." He paused and blinked. "However much I might want to."  
  
"That's okay." Chaz gave up on the M&Ms and caught Langly's hand. "We can. We _will_."  
  
Reid stared contemplatively into the distance. "I'm relatively sure I should be concerned that I'm more bothered by you 'rearranging her priorities' than I am at the idea of killing her."  
  
"Killing her is honest." Chaz shrugged, still holding Reid's hand in one hand and Langly's in the other. "Particularly shooting her while she's attempting to assault or murder you. It's really pretty straightforward, which I am ... anything but."  
  
One corner of Reid's mouth tipped up. "I'd say you're still honest, but--"  
  
"You have exactly no room to pull that on me."  
  
"On the contrary, that is _exactly_ why I get to say it."  
  
Langly looked back and forth between them. "I just want you both to know that this is exactly the kind of thing I'd have been thrilled to print, twenty years ago. The government is fucking with people's heads. Men in black actually working for the FBI, no really this time. So, I just want you to appreciate that maybe being a cryptid has changed me, or maybe I just don't think what's going on here is newsworthy, which is insane, because it is, but I haven't leaked a god damn word."  
  
"In a world in which I didn't know the consequences of publicising that, I'd tell you to do it." Chaz almost smiled at Langly, looking up at him fondly. "But, I do, so thank you."  
  
"Trust me, Idlewood is not your kind of place," Hafidha said, as Mary stepped back out of the kitchen, spatula in her hand and a question already forming.  
  
Reid met Chaz's eyes and recognised instantly that he wasn't talking about Idlewood.


	8. Chapter 8

"How do you stand it?" Hafidha asked, her fingers stilling as she glared at the bedroom door across from her.  
  
"Hm?" Reid blinked and looked up from the piles of printouts in front of him. "Sorry, say it again?"  
  
Hafidha held up a finger and waited for Langly's next desperate and mostly incoherent howl of pleasure. "That. How do you stand it?"  
  
"It's a lot louder when it's in my ear," Reid joked, still looking faintly confused. "But, it's a good sign. He's having a great time."  
  
"That is your boyfriend having incredibly loud sex with someone who isn't you, while you're in here squinting at DNA sequences."  
  
"Ah, yes. Because I'm busy, and he's trying to be tired enough to sleep. And it's not just 'someone', it's Chaz, whom I am also sleeping with. If I wanted to be involved, I would be, but I don't, because I'm busy." Reid raised his eyebrows, wide-eyed, and pointed to the papers in front of him.  
  
"So, this is just... business as usual. You're not worried about this at all." Hafidha did not look at all convinced, but that might have been because she was studying the security feeds, again.  
  
"Why would I be concerned?" Reid turned over the top page on all the stacks. "Frank occasionally needs the reminder that not everything in this relationship is about _me_ , regardless of the fact that Chaz and I both agree that he's the best looking one of us."  
  
"I'm sorry, he's _what_? _Ringo_?" Hafidha recoiled, her eyes still focused on something else. "No, you meant Chaz. Which is still fucked up, but less fucked up."  
  
"I said Frank, and I meant Frank. As Chaz put it, he's 'the hot one'."  
  
"No, that's _you_." Hafidha shot Reid a concerned look, her glasses sliding down her nose.  
  
"Please don't flirt with me." Reid didn't even look up, his fingers spread across the same line on all the pages.  
  
"I'm not. I set you up with _Chaz_ , remember? You're not even my type." Hafidha pushed her glasses up and hooked a camera feed from a convenience store two blocks away. "You're not his type, either. You might've noticed that."  
  
"I've got the PhD. I'm missing the other critical attribute." Reid flipped the pen down from across the back of his hand and made a mark on one page. "Which is irrelevant, because however enjoyable this is, we both understand that it's inevitably temporary. He almost left us for Mary, which, on some level I can't fault, but eventually he will find someone else, someone who _is_ what he wants to be in a relationship with, or at least a better impression than either of us are."  
  
"I was kind of hoping that was going to be you, when we met. That was before I knew you and, ah, Frank were already a thing."  
  
"There's a certain fundamental incompatibility there." Reid turned the pages again. "Under some set of circumstances, it might not have come to that, but there's only so close two people can be, before it becomes a problem, and we're already experiencing some of those side-effects. Falling _in love_ with each other is... dangerous, and it's not something either of us wants for ourselves or each other."  
  
"You're worried about the Anomaly," Hafidha guessed.  
  
"Not personally. Notice it's failed to propagate, so far, which means it's going to take a substantially greater stressor before it considers me a candidate for infection, again. I have some thoughts on what might actually do it--"  
  
"Considering that being tied up, cut up, and threatened with a long, slow death didn't do it..."  
  
"That was a lot less frightening than you'd imagine, really, and a great deal of that calm is attributable to Chaz. The rest of it is that I have a particular skill with that sort of situation." Reid shook his head and counted lines again to be sure his fingers hadn't moved. "The point is that I'm far less a target than a tool with which to hurt Chaz, and there's a certain amount of admiration and embellishment that seems nearly unavoidable with the kind of love we're rather successfully avoiding, which would make that so much easier and so much worse." Another set of pages turned. "Besides, have you ever considered being in that kind relationship with someone with whom you already share enough dream and memory that you can accidentally become the voice of their conscience or, more critically, their own misguided self-loathing? It's an accident waiting to happen."  
  
"I would never say it to him, but consider that it may not be as misguided as you think." Hafidha tapped on the table between them with two fingers and raised them so he'd look up, when she had Reid's attention. "He says he's a monster, but he only says it to people who care. And we _are_ monsters, but he's a little special. You ever see Nightbreed?"  
  
"Ah, no. Sorry, missing the context."  
  
"The main character thinks he's a serial killer. Really, genuinely buys into the nightmares he's having, takes it out on the people around him and accepts that as proof he really is the killer. Except he's not a killer at all. And he keeps chasing after a reason, another monster to validate him. And in the end, he finds out he's not a monster by _becoming one_. You see where I'm going with this." Hafidha's eyebrow lifted and her glasses slid down again, baring the eye that was partially obscured by the scrolling data on the lens. "The man's got a Boone Complex, and you're gonna end up like the-- Well, no. I can't say that. You already get abducted by serial killers without the help."  
  
"That's not funny."  
  
"Good. It shouldn't be." Hafidha's eyes refocused as she picked up a different camera. "But, the point is, the man's got more issues than the Weekly World News, and as much as you've seen him do, there are things he's capable of that you haven't seen, yet. And one of these days, he's going to chase his own tail down the wrong hole, and when -- you hear me, _when_ \-- he loses it, you are well within the blast radius, and all that's left is going to be your shadow permanently imprinted on the wall."  
  
Reid studied Hafidha, eyebrows drawing together in puzzlement. "You wanted me to fall in love with him, and now, in the last ten or fifteen minutes, you've suggested I should be upset that he's having sex with my boyfriend and then proceeded to warn me that he's going to seriously harm me, because he's too self-absorbed not to. You'll forgive me for questioning your motivations, right now."  
  
"No, I wanted you to fall in love with him, because I was kind of hoping a good relationship would _derail his bullshit_. That he'd have something else to think about, to worry about, than whether he's a horrible person because he has nightmares that seem like things he'd actually do." Hafidha looked Reid right in the eye. "I was _not_ hoping you'd trigger another active ability and become part of his mind. _That_ is what I mean when I say you're too close. You're closer than I am. You're closer than Mary could ever have gotten to him, as far as I know. And I don't think you actually know what he can do, what I've seen him do that is absolutely none of my business to tell you, but you need to ask him, because--"  
  
"Are we talking about how sometimes he isn't there or about red glass with a thousand nightmares?" Reid asked, not giving enough detail for Hafidha to figure it out, if she didn't already know. "Because I _do_ know. And I'm not afraid." A faint smile touched the corners of Reid's mouth, as he marked something on one of the pages. "It's the Anomaly; I'm not afraid because it wouldn't _help_."  
  
"He told you about the--" Hafidha managed to point over her shoulder, before Reid interrupted.  
  
"No, he _showed_ me."  
  
Hafidha paused and blinked. Suddenly her face relaxed. "Oh, right, the gas that wasn't a gas, when you kicked that guy in the face."  
  
Actually, it had been a few days after that, but Reid added that to the list of things he really didn't want to explain. And he definitely wasn't going to explain why he was a lot less afraid than he would have been, had he been anyone else. "Why is that always 'the time I kicked a guy in the face'? Why isn't it 'the time Frank got electrocuted'?"  
  
"Because it's Frank, and that _happens_." Hafidha waved a hand dismissively. "I love Chaz, okay. He's like the little brother I never asked for. And he really is a good guy, and I want him to be happy. But, he's not perfect. Nobody's perfect. But, he's got some shit going on, and he's likely to really hurt you with it, and I like you, too. I just want you both to be happy. I don't want either of you getting hurt. Frank, I'm less worried about. He's not going to hurt Frank by _accident_. But, you--"  
  
Her eyes darted to the bedroom door as it opened, and Chaz stepped out, wrapped in Langly's plaid bathrobe which didn't quite make it to his knees. "Not a word," she hissed.  
  
Chaz looked back and forth between them. "And you're talking about me. I know that look." He sighed and gestured to the bathroom, before heading that way, shutting the door behind him.  
  
"How is he even standing up after that?" Hafidha tipped her head in the direction of the bathroom door.  
  
"A full bladder is a strong motivator." Reid went back to the pages in front of him. "And you'll notice he's up, but Frank is not."  
  
Hafidha snorted. "'Mr Dickhead' may be ready to take the surveillance back from me in six hours, but I doubt he's getting out of bed to do it."  
  
Reid smiled, his eyebrows arcing up, even though his eyes never left the page. "You'd be surprised."  
  
Chaz came back across the room, looking a bit damp, but instead of going back to bed, he slid into another seat at the table. "Still talking about me?"  
  
"Discussing her concerns about the several screaming orgasms you just gave my boyfriend," Reid replied, looking faintly amused. "He's asleep?"  
  
"Oh, yeah. He passed out in the middle of--" Chaz's eyes darted to Hafidha, who was obviously trying not to hear the end of the sentence, and he cleared his throat, offering that memory to Reid.  
  
Reid's eyes widened and he blinked twice. "And that's how we know he was already much more tired than he was willing to admit. Is he getting back up in six hours, or...?"  
  
"He'll be fine. I'll cook, later." Chaz smiled warmly and reached out to tuck Reid's hair behind his ear. "You holding up?"  
  
"Probably. I wish I could believe Narcisse would come in like she did last time, but while she's arrogant, she's really obviously not stupid." Reid took his hands off the pages and put his face in them. "We haven't found her."  
  
"It's still early," Chaz reminded him. "Your team is watching your place, right? Bets are she is, too. It's going to take her a little bit to realise you're not coming home."  
  
"We could speed that up," Hafidha offered, eyes unfocused as she studied someone three blocks away. Not who they were waiting for. "A press release that someone forgot to cancel, in all the mayhem. 'Midstreet Homes is proceeding on schedule, and the first units should be ready by mid-March. Single Bullet's CTO Frank Arroway has moved in to the building for a week, to ensure they've designed a building that meets his personal standards for comfort,' yadda yadda, you get where I'm going with this."  
  
Reid blinked, peering over the tips of his fingers, before he dropped his hands to the pages again. "On the one hand, I want to believe she'd immediately identify that as bait. She escaped from prison. Obviously we've been notified about that. Three days later, there's a press release announcing the location of one of her targets? I don't like it, but the longer we wait, the more of a setup it's going to look like. If we'd done this _yesterday_ , maybe I'd believe it. On the other hand, that's exactly the kind of mistake people make, when they're panicked and preoccupied, like the press release that went out about the talk Jeff Reitman was giving, the day after he died. It took two days for all the retractions to catch up."  
  
"See? This is exactly the kind of thing that happens in a company that's already stressed by one of its chief executives having a near-death experience a few months ago. Puts us on the map for Bedlam's boys, too." Hafidha smiled a little too brightly. "They walk in blind, they walk out in handcuffs if they're lucky, and we get to go home."  
  
"The other question is whether she's going to care if it's a trap," Chaz pointed out, stretching his legs and tipping his chair back so it rested against the wall. "Not whether she'll know. Assume she's sure of it. Would she avoid it, or would she assume she's still that much better than both of you, that she could walk past anything he could put in her way?"  
  
"She was arrogant enough to break into my apartment, in the middle of the night, because she thought she could catch L-- Frank in bed. She was also almost correct. She came very, _very_ close to killing us both." Reid closed his eyes, remembering Narcisse, walking himself through every action she'd taken, every reaction she'd had. "You pushed her into an even deeper arrogance, but even so, I doubt she'll repeat herself. I think she'll come, but I think she'll do it very differently."  
  
"She can't get in here without one of us spotting her, Spencer. Can't. We'll either get her on camera or catch her in the system," Hafidha promised. "Whatever she does, we'll know before it happens."  
  
"And she's going to come in, personally." Chaz nodded, trying to pull the robe a little more closed over his thighs. "You know she's not going to let someone else do this."  
  
"Not after what happened when she dug up Langly's grave. She's going to want incontrovertible proof, this time, and she's only going to get that if she personally kills us both. And that way she also gets the satisfaction." Reid looked grim, but Chaz could see the glint of remembered terror in his eyes. "And we're not going to see her coming if she contaminates the air in the HVAC. She doesn't have to kill us or even knock us unconscious. She just has to incapacitate us."  
  
"She can't get near the air intake without being seen. You really think in a place like this that Frank _didn't_ consider that?" Hafidha laughed. "No, he said something about every single pipe and vent that left the building having eyes, because he knew her."  
  
"The first time we saw her, she escaped through an air vent that should've been too small to fit a person."  
  
Chaz's eyes darted up to the vents that sat high on the walls. "How small?"  
  
"Not that small." Reid shook his head, picking up the pen, again, and absently twirling it in improbable ways. "Federal archive environmental control system."  
  
"Right, okay, I know what those look like." Chaz nodded. "So, all we have to worry about is how to deal with her, once she's inside the building."  
  
"I vote we shut down the air, just to avoid surprises." Hafidha raised her hand.  
  
"I'm really just going to shoot her, as soon as she comes through the door."  
  
Hafidha's hand moved, extending a calming gesture toward Reid. "Let me do that. I'm not the intended victim, and I've never been accused of any wrongdoing in connection with Narcisse. This is a safehouse, and Chaz and I are here to protect you, and that is how it's going down on paper. It's my job to make sure she doesn't get to you, by whatever means necessary. All you need to do is stay in the second bedroom with Frank, once we spot her."  
  
"The one with no windows," Reid realised.  
  
"Because we don't have a safe way to get you out a window, but that doesn't mean she doesn't have a way to come in one."  
  
"Hafidha?" Reid swallowed, watching the pen twist between his fingers. "Thank you."  
  
"Like I said, I like you, and I don't want to see you get hurt. By _anybody_."  
  
Reid's fingers stopped moving, and after a moment, he looked up, almost reproachful. " _Please_ don't shoot Frank."  
  
Chaz caught a laugh in the hand he slapped over his mouth and snorted, instead.


	9. Chapter 9

"I want to love this stove, but it's electric," Chaz teased, wiping a splash of cheese sauce off the smooth surface.  
  
Langly pointed a fork at him. "That is entirely because you're a snob, which none of the people moving in here will be. It's easy to use, and it's easy to clean. And the product documentation swears it's a real pain in the ass to break. I really doubt any of the people moving in here are going to be trying to cook the kinds of things that need the kind of responsive temperature control that you expect."  
  
"Not with this stove, they're not!" Chaz laughed, spooning extra sauce onto Mary's plate.  
  
"It's all some kind of arcane wizardry to me." Mary held up a hand and shook her head. "I can make chicken cutlets. That's about as close to serious cooking as I get."  
  
"He makes gourmet ramen," Langly muttered around a mouthful of tater tots and onions, gesturing at Reid, who covered his eyes and cleared his throat.  
  
"He's got a PhD; of course he makes gourmet ramen," Mary scoffed, rolling her eyes. "What the hell do you think graduate students eat?"  
  
"Hey, I ate better than that!" Chaz protested, chiselling a slab of casserole away from the side of the pan.  
  
"You did not!" Reid laughed, astonished. "You just ate more of it!"  
  
"You've all been missing out on his ten-minute spicy peanut noodles," Langly said, between bites, and Chaz recoiled from Reid's memory of the taste.  
  
Reid felt it happen. "Sorry, wasn't expecting that."  
  
"No, that was me," Chaz waved him off and took a seat, just as the lights went out. "That's not reassuring."  
  
"Oh, shit." Langly's fork clanked as it hit the plate. "Get Hafs. Tell me what it looks like outside."  
  
Reid went for the window, and Chaz went for the bedroom.  
  
"Everything's out all the way down the block. Even the traffic lights are out."  
  
"Okay," Langly spoke slowly, a sign he was doing too many things at once. "We still have cameras. If I want them, we still have lights, but I'm going to leave that off for now. If it's Narcisse, let's not give away that the security system has a solar charged UPS and we've got a generator. Elevators are offline, lights are down, and the security desk is dark. As far as anyone can tell, we're sitting ducks."  
  
"You were ready for _this_?" Reid made his way back to the table, in the dark.  
  
"Ah, not this exactly, but yeah. People get weird when the power goes out. You want to keep people from getting weird, you make sure you've got a backup generator or three. Lights should be coming back on in a few buildings across the street, because their cameras just came back up, which tells me their systems aren't as good as mine."  
  
"Okay, but if the whole block is out, why do we think it's got anything to do with you?" Mary asked, one edge of her face faintly lit in the glow from Langly's phone. "First of all, who the hell takes out an entire block. You don't take out a block, you take out a building. And second--"  
  
"You can't take out the building." The words almost weren't words, the edges of them soft with Langly's distraction, with the other information coursing through his brain. "You could, but it's easier to shut down this part of the grid. And that happened. It's not the block. It's the segment. It looks like an intentional blackout, like you'd turn it off if there were major lines being replaced. The system's built to handle that, but the secondary safeties aren't engaged, because those are manual, as far as I can tell, which means she got in remotely."  
  
"So, this isn't just a blackout because somebody's toaster went off at the same time the street lights came on." Chaz stood in the bedroom door, nearly invisible in the dark. "Hafs should be out in a minute."  
  
"She's already in the system with me." Langly sounded a little better, as if some of the load had been lifted. "But, we're not seeing anyone, yet, midgets or otherwise."  
  
"Frank, it's pitch black in here--" Reid started, but Langly cut him off.  
  
"Infrared and thermal imaging. Because I learned from watching her go after the X-Files."  
  
"Okay, everyone who doesn't have a gun goes into the front bedroom," Hafidha said, ducking under Chaz's arm. "That means you, too, Ringo."  
  
"If Reid's out here, I'm out here," Langly insisted, making no move to get up.  
  
"I'm not supposed to be out here, either," Reid reminded him, picking up a plate of still-warm casserole. "Chaz and Hafidha need the space so they don't accidentally shoot us in the dark. You remember what happened the last time Narcisse actually saw you..."  
  
"She can't see me. It's dark," Langly protested. A split second later, he squeaked as Mary hauled him out of the chair.  
  
"Fucking _move_ , Dick. We practically glow in the dark, and your phone keeps lighting up."  
  
Somehow, Reid found the bedroom door, holding it open as the clones passed him, shoving and slapping at each other. "Are you sure--"  
  
"I'm sure," Hafidha answered him. "It's going to look a lot better on paper, if you're shut in a room with your boyfriend. Trust me. We're good at what looks good on paper. It's part of the job in a way it really isn't, for you."  
  
"She's right," Chaz said, quietly, from much closer than Reid had thought him, but the darkness was distorting his perceptions in that way he hated.  
  
Still, Reid knew what came next, and he tipped his head to the expected angle and let Chaz kiss him. For that moment, they melted into each other, the sensations perfect and impossible, and he remembered what it had been like getting shot and having Chaz cut him off in self-defence. And he hoped he wasn't about to find out what that felt like from the other side.  
  
"That's for both of you, so share it. It'll keep you from thinking about the dark." Chaz folded Reid's hand around something cold and metal. "So will that." He stepped out and pulled the door closed.  
  
Reid turned the object in his hand a few times before he figured out what it was. "Save your batteries," he told Langly... one of the Langlys... as he flipped open the lid on the Zippo and lit it, using his other hand to keep the light out of his eyes, until he could put the thing on the corner of a dresser, next to a plate, where the light would reflect off the walls. It wasn't much light, but it was still better than the complete darkness they'd been in.  
  
Mary looked as relieved as Reid felt, at the edge of the dim glow. "I didn't know you were carrying. I should really start again."  
  
"It's Chaz's," Reid admitted, noticing the light helped very little in distinguishing between the two of them -- far less than their voices. He sat beside the correct Langly, and tried to pretend the situation was some kind of normal, that it was fundamentally no different to any number of other cases that had come before it, and that it didn't matter that he and Langly were the intended victims. He tried to convince himself that being personally involved just meant he had a better perspective on what was going on. That being bait just meant he knew nobody else was going to screw that up.  
  
But, it was his worst nightmares all over again, compounded by the fact that eight days ago, he'd been bait in a very similar situation, and he could still feel the chill of metal against his forehead if he stopped concentrating on not feeling it. Eight days ago, he'd stopped an obsessed stalker from killing Chaz, by putting himself directly in the way. And now the woman who wanted to make herself the last possible object of appeal to the remaining Belmont twin was on her way to kill Langly. And Chaz was standing directly in the way.  
  
And that wasn't how this was supposed to go. It wasn't that he doubted Chaz could protect them, it was that he doubted Chaz could stop after one bullet. It had only been a week, and suddenly Reid entirely understood the warning Hafidha had tried to give him. This was how monsters were made, he knew, because he'd been one.  
  
"Where the hell is she?" Langly snapped, his hands reacting to things only he could see.  
  
"What if it's not her?" Mary asked, getting up to retrieve her dinner from where she'd left it on a shelf by the door.  
  
"Well it's not an accident," Langly retorted, tartly.  
  
"No, she's right. What if it's Kim of Bedlam?" Reid followed where Mary had been going with that thought.  
  
"Doesn't matter." Langly shook his head almost imperceptibly. "Someone would be here. No one's interested in the building. No one's in the security system, which I keep checking, even though we shouldn't _have_ a security system, with the power out. There's nobody here. Where the hell is she? Or _they_ , or whoever. You don't just cut off power to a whole neighbourhood for no reason."  
  
"You're right. You don't. What still has alarms? Look near the edges."  
  
Langly rolled his eyes. "You don't put a distraction that close and we both know it. It's like inviting the cops to the party."  
  
"Okay, I don't usually freak out about a lot of things, but this is starting to freak me out." Mary paced back and forth across the small room, still eating dinner.  
  
"It's because it doesn't make sense." Reid tipped his head back against the edge of the bed and stared up at the darkness. "Radio. Do we have a radio? I bet this has been picked up, by now, and if it hasn't been, it will be. This isn't a minor outage, and the longer it goes on, with the traffic lights down--"  
  
Mary pointed at him with her fork. "The traffic reports have to be mentioning it. And if it goes on long enough, they're going to try to get an explanation."  
  
"Official word is still just that there _is_ an outage." Langly shrugged. "Not surprising. Nobody wants to admit what happened here. If they've even figured it out, yet. They're probably still looking for _damage_ , not intrusions."  
  
"What else is here? This may not even be _about_ us, if no one's trying to enter the building," Reid ventured, getting up to move the Zippo as the smell of scorching laminate hit him.  
  
Mary handed him the plate she'd just scraped clean, when she saw where he was looking.  
  
"I know you bought this building because the area _isn't_ primarily residential. We're surrounded by office buildings, which means this could be anything from corporate espionage to stealing a senator's psychiatric records." Reid eyed the Zippo, well aware that his shirt was polyester, and that was not going to help at all. He picked up the fork from his own plate and the one from the plate Mary had just handed him, and used them to lift the hot metal case onto the stoneware plate.  
  
"Corporate espionage right next to a bunch of people who have two different kinds of killers after them." Langly peered across the corner of the bed at Reid. "Because _that's_ likely."  
  
"It's a rational explanation for what we're seeing. We both know the outage isn't going to last much longer, if there's no damage to the lines, and you would know if there was. If someone was trying to take advantage of the cameras being disabled, they'd already be here. They'd have to be. There's not enough time," Reid argued, leaning on the dresser, by the light. He was behind the door, so it didn't make him as obvious a target as it might have.  
  
Mary started to say something, and then stopped, pointing up, unsure anyone could see her do it. "There. You hear it? Traffic's finally fucked up enough to matter."  
  
"There's an accident on the corner," Langly said, as the helicopter drew closer. "But, I think the power might be out a little longer. Whatever happened, one of the cars just took out a power pole, and the best place to see it from is--" He stopped talking as the helicopter hovered over the building, and just pointed up, instead.  
  
They hadn't heard the crash, and the helicopter was loud, but not deafening, which said a great deal for the way the exterior walls were constructed, Reid thought, despite the fact that Langly could be clearly heard through the interior walls. The place really was fairly well constructed, with an eye toward safety and security, and he wondered how much of that had been inherent in the original design, and how much was Byers's doing.  
  
His speculation was cut short by the next words out of Langly's mouth. "I just lost our eyes on the roof."


	10. Chapter 10

"I think it's somebody's jacket. They're probably going to send somebody over in the morning to try to get it back." Langly huffed, irritated, and flapped a hand helplessly, as if trying to chase the cloth out of his way. "Whatever it is, it fell out of the helicopter and caught on the camera by the door, and now I can't see shit up there."  
  
"This is not an accident," Reid insisted. "Where's the next nearest--"  
  
"Right on the other side of the door. It's fine. I don't need to see the roof, I need to see the stairs, and I can see the stairs." Langly paused and tipped his head. "I can't see the stairs. Why can't I see the stairs? I'm on thermal, and there should be something. I should be able to see the door handle, even if there's nothing else. Door handle's always cold. What the hell is--" His fingers flicked and snatched at things he didn't need the illusion of touching to control, but it helped. "Oh, goddamn it. Yeah, it's us. It's us and the only thing I can see is where they've been."  
  
"What?" Reid looked sharply at what of Langly he could see over the edge of the bed. "How did she get past you?"  
  
"Spray paint. Thermal imaging doesn't work if you paint the lens." Langly squinted into the dark. "If it's Narcisse, she has help. I'd be real surprised if she pulled this together in the last three days, while trying not to get arrested."  
  
"Wait, if you can see everything, how'd she get close enough to spray paint the camera without being seen?" Mary asked, pacing again.  
  
"With a drone. The door opens just enough to fit a small drone sideways, and there's something blocking it. Probably the cloth on the camera outside, so it's subtle. I almost missed it. But the second camera, down at the corner, picks up the engine for a second, right before it goes out."  
  
"We still know where she is," Reid said, after a moment. "Not as well as we would with the cameras, but we can tell when she's reached a floor, because she'll have to let the drone out ahead of her, and she's going to have to open the door for it when it comes back, if she doesn't follow it out. And if she does, then we know exactly where she is."  
  
"You say this like you're planning to go out there after her. I hate to break it to you, but the night-vision goggles don't work with no light at all, which is what you're up against in that hall."  
  
"Langly, we _have_ power. We're operating with an illusion of--" Reid stopped, as that piece of information carved through the panic he'd been holding at arm's length. "We have no power. Why is she painting the cameras? As far as she knows, we can't see her."  
  
"In case the power comes back on," Mary suggested. "She wants to make sure she can get back out without being seen."  
  
"Habit. She's not just spraying them, she's spraying them with a drone, and she's doing a damn good job of it. I might have to replace the cameras, but I doubt I'm going to have to wash it off the walls." Langly's eyes focused on Reid. "She's done this before. ... And so has Hafs. That's _our_ drone, now."  
  
"Real question, if she's trying not to get picked up by cameras she's not sure are working, how's she getting down the stairs without falling? You turn on a flashlight in the pitch black, and somebody's gonna see that." Mary turned at the end of the room, almost invisible to Reid, blinded as he was by the tiny flame that stood between him and the darkness. "You need some kind of light for night vision. You can't see shit with thermal--"  
  
"You _might_ be able to see the cameras with thermal," Langly corrected. "You're still not going to see the stairs. You are going to see the vents, even with the heat off, because they're still warm. But, if she picked up the cameras, she knows we're fucking with her." He blinked. "Now I'm doing it. Why are you so sure it's her and not him?"  
  
"You have the drone. Turn around," Reid replied, as if it were the only sensible answer. "Can't you--"  
  
" _Hafs_ has the drone."  
  
"It's Narcisse. Hafidha has already seen her. Unless you're going to tell me that Kim of Bedlam sent someone that short after us, the heat signatures say it's her."  
  
"Which you know because she told Chaz, and she forgot to tell me." Langly sighed, hands stilling. "There's nothing I can do except keep watching the cameras she hasn't taken out, yet. Which is... most of them, because she's still in the stairs, and I don't think she's figured out the drone's been hijacked yet."  
  
"Yeah, I bet she's in the stairs. She can't _see_ ," Mary huffed.  
  
"Sure she can." Reid's eyebrows arced up as he waited a few seconds to see if Mary would figure out the obvious. "The cameras can't see her. A flashlight isn't going to make a difference. And if she's also using night vision, she barely needs light at all."  
  
"We could put the lights on and totally screw her up," Langly volunteered, but Reid was already shaking his head.  
  
"We could, but that wouldn't solve the problem. She'll just know we can see her. We _might_ incapacitate her for long enough to catch her, if you strobe the lights with the right timing, but she's nowhere near us. There's no evidence she's here _for us_."  
  
"Uh, she's in the building. That's... pretty close to us." Langly twisted around to look at Reid. "She's escaped from prison. She was in prison for two attempted murders, because she was trying to kill us. You and me. And now she just broke in to a building that's not open to the public, specifically to kill us both. I think she's close enough."  
  
"She'll go back to prison. She'll be out in a day." Reid leaned against the corner where the dresser met the wall, clutching at his own elbows, to keep his hands occupied. "Because they still don't know how she got out. Neither do we."  
  
"Not seeing why this is a reason to let her get closer. She could conveniently fall down the stairs in the dark."  
  
"I want witnesses. I want absolutely no question who she was or why she was here," Reid insisted, stubbornly, eyes darting to the Zippo as the flame guttered a bit around the blackened wick. "Convenient trespassing accident isn't really going to absolve me, on paper."  
  
"Getting shot down by a pair of feds in the next room isn't going to absolve you either. That's gonna make this whole thing look like a setup, which it kind of is, not that it's a _bad idea_." Langly rested his arms on the edge of the bed, looking up at Reid. "You let her fall down the stairs and we officially saw nothing. We stayed in here with the door locked, until the power came back on, and then we ... well, you, found the body in the stairs. She's on the floor above us. The drone's missing the cameras, now, not like she can tell."  
  
"She could fall down the stairs relatively uninjured. I've seen the stairs. That's what they were designed for, and I applaud that, in general. And if we strobe the stairs, she's going to know we know where she is." Reid rubbed his eye with the heel of his palm. "Langly, this has to actually end. And I don't like how it has to end, but we tried doing this the right way. We arrested her. She went to prison for several murders and the attempted murder of a federal agent, _at least_. That should have been the end. Normally, that's where the story ends, for me, aside from a very small number of cases involving escaped prisoners who came after the team. And we were rarely quite this... prepared. I suppose I've learned from our mistakes. From _my_ mistakes. And right now, I'm extremely interested in a permanent solution to this problem, whether that is death or permanent disability. Someone _let her out of prison_ , almost indisputably to kill us. We have a serious problem."  
  
"This is why upstairs gets so pissed off when you shoot someone, you know," Langly pointed out. "You get stressed and then you get violent."  
  
"You shoot people often?" Mary asked, from where she'd been forgotten on the dark side of the room.  
  
"I do not shoot people often, and when I do, it is to preserve someone else who is in immediate danger." The words were tight and Reid didn't look up. "And I won't be shooting _anyone_ , tonight. I'm hiding in a bedroom with my boyfriend and his clone, while Chaz and Hafidha make sure we don't get murdered."  
  
"She's back on the stairs. Just let me strobe the stairs," Langly pleaded. "This can all be over."  
  
This time Reid looked up. "What do you mean _back_ on the stairs?"  
  
"She started at the top, one floor above us. All the doors up there are unlocked, because we've got contractors in and out, finishing things up. It's easy enough to see we're not up there." Langly paused, wincing. "And too late. We're the fourth door from that end. They're all locked on this floor, but..."  
  
"She still doesn't know we're waiting for her," Reid offered. "We could be in the basement, trying to get the generator to come on. I can only hope she's expecting to wait for us, when she comes through that door."  
  
"Because otherwise she's going to think Chaz is you and take a shot at him?" Langly snapped. A moment later, his eyes widened and his lips became an even thinner line. "Okay, you're stressed; I'm stressed; it's bad decisions time. I'm turning on the safety lights. She'll definitely think we're in the basement."  
  
Reid couldn't draw enough breath to say anything, the very idea of Chaz's getting seriously injured and it being _his fault_... But, Chaz also knew what he was doing. And whatever might be said, they weren't the same person, neither legally nor in actuality. And Chaz was here, because they were trying to catch _different_ murderers for the ACTF, which had nothing to do with the fact that Narcisse was on her way down the hall. He wondered if he'd have heard her, the first time, if he'd been awake. Still, he was pretty sure he wouldn't hear her, this time.  
  
But he did. Even if he couldn't hear through the wall, he could hear what Chaz heard. And when the scratching in the lock started, Reid drew his gun and moved to the other side of the bedroom door, so that when it opened, if it opened, he'd be the first thing she saw and the first one to see her. But, that wasn't quite what happened.  
  
He saw her as Chaz saw her, the silhouette in the opening door, as light spilled into the room from behind her. And it was her; for the first time, he really knew that -- the compact, slender-armed shape interrupted only by what were probably some kind of goggles pushed up on her head and the line of extra equipment around her waist and down one leg.  
  
"FBI! Open your hands and--"  
  
The shadow spoke. "Spencer! You waited up for me!"  
  
Reid could see Narcisse's eyes dimly glinting in the light from the hall, saw them just as Chaz saw them, as she stepped into the room, the light finally not directly behind her. They watched as her arm moved, but Chaz was faster by far. The next sound wasn't a gunshot, though. Of course it wasn't. She wouldn't take that chance, this time, because she didn't want to kill him outright. A taser, which meant--  
  
They heard the click of the cartridge being discarded, when she realised she'd missed, and Chaz was more than fast enough to avoid being hit that time, too, but he made sure Reid understood that he'd slammed his arm into the backup prongs intentionally. They both tasted the electricity as Chaz went down, clearing the way for Hafidha to take the shot she had, from the still-dark kitchen.  
  
"Wile E Coyote, Super Genius," Hafidha sighed, stepping over Chaz to kick the taser away from one of Narcisse's hands and the knife from the other. "You going to live?" she asked, and for a moment, Reid thought she was talking to Narcisse, but Chaz groaned in reply.  
  
Seconds. It had taken just seconds, and badly shaken, Reid holstered his gun and opened the bedroom door, gazing into the dimly-lit dining room.  
  
"What happened?" he asked, as if he hadn't seen it all. Which he supposed, he hadn't. Chaz hadn't been able to see for a second, at least, and it was a fairly critical moment.  
  
"She came at Chaz with a taser and a knife, because she thought he was you. I shot her through the side of the head, while she was busy gloating. Large rounds, because she's not what I was expecting when I packed. She was dead before she hit the floor." Hafidha waved her phone at where Chaz was finally trying to get up. "He's fine. It's not the first time he's been tased, and he bounces back pretty quick."  
  
"I hate being tased," Chaz complained, patting his arm in an attempt to get the buzzing under his skin to stop. "It was bad the first time, worse the second time, and this time really wasn't too great, either."  
  
"You did it on purpose," Reid reminded him, crossing the room to crouch by his side, wanting the reassurance that it really was all right, that Chaz hadn't come to real harm, trying to protect him. "I know you could've gotten out of the way without doing that, so if you hate getting tased..."  
  
"I had less than a second to figure out how to get out of _Hafidha's_ way while keeping Narcisse's attention on me, because I dodged that first shot in exactly the wrong direction. I knew if I went down, she was going to stop moving for at least a breath, and that's long enough for Hafs to get the clear shot I accidentally stepped in front of." Chaz looked up at Hafidha. "Thank you for not shooting me."  
  
"I'd never shoot you, platypus! Even if you did jump in front of a perfect shot." Hafidha pointed her phone at Chaz. "Do I call Mom, or do I call Prentiss?"  
  
Chaz groaned and rested his head on Reid's shoulder. "This is the kind of situation I'm not sure there's a right answer to. We're here for _our_ case. Something that used to be _his_ case just walked in and tried to kill me. Except it's a Corrections problem, because she escaped from prison, and calling Prentiss looks like a coverup."  
  
"Coverups are what we _do_ ," Hafidha reminded him.  
  
"No, dealing with people nobody else knows what to do with is what we do. Coverups are a side-effect of that."  
  
"I think we call the locals," Reid suggested, rubbing his thumb behind Chaz's ear. It was either going to help, or he was going to throw up. "This was never supposed to become our problem. Yes, she's looking for me, but she shouldn't have been able to _find me_ , because I'm not at home and I'm not going to work. The local police in three or four jurisdictions are going to be looking for her, because, as Chaz points out, she's escaped from prison. The fact that she just walked into the middle of a case that has nothing to do with her complicates matters, but she's someone else's case. We give her back. We were already waiting for assassins, and we have documentation to prove it. We just weren't waiting for _this one_."  
  
Chaz snorted. "A horrible accident, except it didn't happen to us."  
  
"It kind of did." Reid pressed his face against Chaz's hair. "Are you okay?"


	11. Chapter 11

"You can interview him in here, but he's not leaving the room, until the body's been moved," Mary insisted, glaring at the cop trying to get Langly into the living room. "You want a chair, bring one in."  
  
"What are you, his lawyer?" the cop asked. "Because if you're not a lawyer--"  
  
"I'm his _doctor_." Mary rolled her eyes. "You can't stress him out or he'll puke all over your scene, and dead bodies stress him out. Like they _should_."  
  
"You seemed surprisingly calm until I asked Mr Arroway to come into the living room. Dead bodies don't stress you out because... you're a doctor?" The cop eyed her like he was thinking of questioning her a lot more seriously.  
  
"I'm a consulting pathologist for the York County Coroner. I've seen farm accidents worse than what's out there. And that one time with the corn fungus that infected the entire harvest crew on three farms? It's a gunshot. It's not that exciting, _for me_." She pointed at Langly. "For him? He's a programmer. He doesn't see dead people like you and I do. So, if you want him coherent and functional for the rest of the interview, it's happening right here."  
  
"He seems a little alive for you to be his doctor."  
  
"She's multitalented," Langly snapped. "What the hell else do you want to know? We were in here with Reid. He was supposed to protect us, if she got past Gates and Villette."  
  
"I'd like to know what three FBI agents, a technical consultant, and a pathologist from Nebraska are doing in one apartment in a building that's not finished."  
  
"Yeah, I'm a consultant. My other gig owns this building. And we're here because we're working on something you don't have the clearance for, and the feds out in the dining room are going to tell you the same thing. But, it's really fucking important, and it's got nothing to do with Tits-and-a-Taser out there, who was here for _me_. And that's why there were three fibbies between me and the front door."  
  
"This isn't where you live. How would Miss... er..." The officer flipped through his notes to that point.  
  
"Narcisse. It's the only name we have for her. She's very good at what she does, and she doesn't exist except for the corpse in the dining room and some real recent records I'm pretty sure were next on her list of things to get rid of, after me." Langly whistled and gestured at his eyes, to get the cop to look at him. "She stole a credit card issued by the CIA, back in the 90s, and that just finally bit her in the ass _last year_. She's a serial killer and me and Reid are the only surviving victims, and this is now _twice_. I'm pretty sure it doesn't matter how she found us, at this point, although I wouldn't be surprised if she was tapping Reid's cel _again_. Yeah, that's a thing she can do and has done, tapping a phone you're not supposed to be able to do that to, not to say I couldn't, because the software's shit, but it's not easy. She _did_ find us, and then she hacked into the relay, turned off the power, and stowed away on a traffic helicopter, so she could sneak in here from the roof and kill us. And now she's dead. I beg your fucking pardon if I'm not real upset about that."  
  
"So, you'd say you're glad she's dead, rather than under arrest?"  
  
"Maybe you missed the part where she broke out of prison to come here and murder me. Dead is _great_. Dead means I can sleep at night." Langly glared up at the cop from where he still sat on the floor, laptop balanced on one leg. "Still doesn't mean I want to see a corpse. I mean, there've been some times, but if Villette says she's dead, she's dead."

* * *

"Obviously, you can't stay here," Prentiss said, sitting on a stool by the kitchen island, with a cup of reheated coffee that was still better than what she drank, most days. Villette's, then, probably.  
  
"As soon as the evidence techs are out, I am going to walk into that room," Reid pointed to the door of the bedroom Langly and Mary still occupied, "pick up my boyfriend, and walk next door, where Agent Gates and Dr Langly have been staying. We're here for a reason, Emily, and I'm not going to jeopardise the ACTF case or my own life by moving to a less-secure location."  
  
"How secure is it, really?" Prentiss demanded. "Narcisse got all the way into the apartment without being stopped."  
  
A faint smile touched the corners of Reid's mouth and he looked away. "Yes. She did. And you should ask Agent Gates for the security video. There's a generator in the basement. All we had to do was make sure the only thing it powered was the thermal imaging cameras."  
  
"You have thermal imaging? Here? I thought this was supposed to be some kind of halfway house for homeless people. I mean, a really impressive one, but..." Prentiss looked around, taking in the details of the kitchen.  
  
"It's not a halfway house. It's ... basically, it's a co-op for currently-homeless families. The idea is that it's supposed to take the strain off the shelters, because it's hard to place entire families, and the system's really designed to accommodate single men. So, yes, there's very good security on this building, because it's meant to feel safe. Better than the security on _my_ building, for the moment." When Reid's gaze shifted back to Prentiss's face, his eyes were sharp, despite the exhaustion written across the rest of his face. "So, yes. I intend to stay here, until the rest of the people trying to murder me make their attempt."  
  
"Spencer, how sure are you that this wasn't it?" Prentiss held up a hand. "I barely know anything about the ACTF case. And I'm not asking you to tell me. I'm telling you that I know something extraordinary and dare I say anomalous happened Monday night. You told me that you were staying here because of concerns that a contract had been taken out on the three of you because of something you uncovered in Nebraska that already involved contract killings staged to look like accidents. You also told me that the organisation that had been contracted for the first killings was headed by someone with a very long reach and excellent computer skills."  
  
Reid leaned back against the counter behind him and closed his eyes, taking a few long, deep breaths. "You're not the first to suggest it. It's an accident because Narcisse already wanted two of us dead, and as she's proven before, if her options were limited, she'd have killed everyone in the apartment. But, she didn't know there were more than two of us, here. And that's where it falls apart. Whoever got her out and, in theory, provided her with the drone she was using should have known we were all here. And she didn't. She was only expecting two of us. She thought Villette was _me_. I heard her say it."  
  
"Did she not know, or was she just distracted by how easy it would be to grab ... 'you', while everyone else was in bed?" Prentiss asked. "I know you just had the shit scared out of you, but I need you to think about this as if it happened to someone else. New case. A would-be killer escapes from prison after something goes wrong with the computers that control the locks. This killer goes after their only surviving victims, who are currently hiding from--" She held up a hand. "I know. Just go with it. Hiding from another killer whose specialities are computer crime and arranging deaths by misfortune. What is your first assumption going to be?"  
  
" _First_ assumption." Reid pulled out another stool and sat at the other end of the island. "But, I don't think the evidence bears it out. That said, I'm not going to know until Frank and Agent Gates finish examining her electronics. Even then, we may never know, but the most recent death in the other case assures me that we're right to expect another attempt. They're close, and they want us to know it, most likely in the hope that one or more of us will do something ill-advised."  
  
"If you were anyone else, I'd say you sounded paranoid, but more often than not, I do trust your judgement. I'm at a bit of a loss, here, because I don't know the other case, and I know you're trying to explain without sharing too much. And after Fitzgerald, I appreciate that."  
  
Reid squeezed his eyes shut. "I was relatively sure Fitzgerald was going to get me killed and the rest of you fired. In this case, I'm pretty sure no one on our team is going to get fired, even if the three of us are just as likely to get killed. But, I didn't take this job because I thought it would be safe."  
  
"Why _did_ you take this job, Spencer? I've never been sure." Prentiss sipped her coffee, watching the expressions that crossed Reid's face: longing, resentment, acceptance.  
  
"Because Gideon made it sound like an amazing opportunity to use skills no one else would ever appreciate." Reid watched the techs pack up the last of their gear and head out the door that had stood open through all of this.  
  
"You guys have a good night, now!" A young woman in a paper suit waved to the two of them, before she pulled the door shut, behind her, ending the invasion and examination of every corner of the apartment, for the moment, and really, Reid was glad he hadn't been home for this. He wasn't sure he could've handled it _again_.  
  
"I stayed because better it be me. Do you remember me, when I was in my mid-twenties? Do you remember what it was like watching me come to terms with what we do, with what other people do that makes this job necessary? Somewhere out there, there's another me, and better me than him." Having barely just sat down, Reid got up again. "If you'll excuse me, I have to carry my boyfriend next door."  
  
"I wasn't going to ask, but... why are you carrying him? I didn't think he was injured."  
  
"He's not, and I'd like to keep it that way. He's not very good with death, nor is he particularly good at navigating unknown spaces with his eyes closed." Reid's eyelids fluttered at the memory of Langly tripping over his couch, his coffee table, the edge of the rug between the desk and the bathroom door. Just another sign of how the evening's events had begun to erode his control. "It's going to be a lot less painful for everyone involved if I just carry him out. He weighs less than Morgan, and this time, he's not unconscious."  
  
Chaz stepped out of the bedroom, a sheet awkwardly wrapped around his body. "Did I hear them leave? Are we good to... ah..." He pulled the sheet a little closer and glanced down to make sure he was as covered as he thought he was. "Agent Prentiss. Good to see you again, although the situation leaves something to be desired."  
  
"Always a pleasure, Agent Villette." Prentiss nodded, then opened her mouth, looking up at Reid as she pointed across the room.  
  
"No, he wasn't naked."  
  
Chaz laughed, a sudden sharp sound. "My clothes are evidence, and my bag is in another bedroom. I was a little too close..."  
  
"It's not a thing until we get to three," Reid said quietly, his eyes sympathetic as he caught Chaz's attention. Nine days. It had only been nine days.  
  
"I think two agents in bedsheets in the wake of the same killer, what, nine? ten months apart? counts as at least most of a thing," Prentiss joked. "No serious injuries? I heard you got tased."  
  
"She got me good." Chaz nodded, unwilling to admit to anyone who hadn't been present that he'd set up the shot Hafidha had taken. "I'm just lucky that was the taser and not the knife, but the knife was what distracted me."  
  
"Or a gun," Prentiss pointed out. "Like the last time."  
  
"I was _hoping_ for a gun. That's what the vest was for. I don't like being shot any more than I like being tased, but it's usually a little less incapacitating, for _me_." Chaz shrugged easily, catching the sheet as it fell from his too-thin shoulder. And he saw Prentiss take note of that, judge the flash of bare skin in comparison to what she'd no doubt seen of Reid. "But, she came at me with the taser prongs, and my brain switched the sides for a split second, and I thought it was the knife. I thought she'd figured out I wasn't Reid, and all I could think was that the vest wasn't going to save me, but my _arm_ might. And then I don't remember _anything_ for about five seconds."  
  
Prentiss looked back and forth between them, as Hafidha appeared in the doorway, behind Chaz. "You really don't look that much alike."  
  
"They do in the dark." Hafidha nudged Chaz out of her way. "I'm very glad you didn't get stabbed, like I thought you did, but please go take a shower. There's blood in your hair."  
  
Chaz seemed to fold into himself, as his eyes squeezed shut. "Yeah. I'm just going to..." He nodded toward the bathroom, and then gave Hafidha the most pitiful look he could muster. "Grab my bag and throw it in after me? I don't want to accidentally spread--"  
  
Hafidha made shooing motions. "Shower. Go. I promise you won't end up naked." Her eyes settled on Prentiss. "Your case and my case may have just collided, unless you can think of yet another third party who wants to kill us. She had a phone, and it didn't wipe as well as she thought it did."  
  
"That's evidence in a--"  
  
Hafidha shook her head. "I don't need the actual phone. I just needed access to the data, and being a phone, it's already on a network I can access. I can tell you someone tried to fry it, but after I copied it. The attempt wasn't made until after I called in the shooting, so someone has-- _had_ a very close eye on her. I blocked that attempt, but they're going to keep trying. It has to be processed tonight, because the data isn't going to be there, tomorrow. I'm pretty sure the _phone_ isn't going to be there, tomorrow, if I understood that signal properly. Frank's double-checking that, as we speak."  
  
"Oh, you assmaster!" Langly shouted, from the bedroom. "Now you tell me? Now?"


	12. Chapter 12

Langly almost dumped himself out of Reid's arms twice between the bedroom and the apartment next door, where he was deposited somewhat awkwardly on the couch, still yelling. Prentiss and Mary followed, at a distance, pulling over chairs, while Reid went to make coffee.  
  
"I promise he's actually connected to the internet, and he's not just shouting like a lunatic," Hafidha told them, as she came in, a few minutes later, carrying a stack of containers from the other fridge. "He builds his own hardware. It's subtle."  
  
"Yeah, I know." Mary rocked her chair back to look at Hafidha over the back of it. "Any idea who he's yelling at? He's a little incoherent."  
  
"Nope. Whatever he's working on, he locked me out of it. He did verify that I was right about the phone, though." Hafidha deposited the several containers of casserole on the coffee table, before she took a seat next to Langly on the couch, pointing at Prentiss. "Technically, this was your team's case, so I think the request has to come from you guys, but that phone needs to be duplicated before whoever's behind this gets past me and destroys the data. I'm good. I'm _great_. But, even I have to sleep, eventually. I'll pass on my copy if I have to, but you _probably_ can't go to court with it, if it comes to that."  
  
"Chain of evidence, and you didn't have a warrant. The argument could be made that you cloned the device during the commission of a crime, but I don't think that's going to carry, and I'd rather not have to make that argument." Prentiss nodded, looking over her shoulder as Reid returned with a large bowl of pretzels, settling it in Langly's lap.  
  
"He forgets to eat, when he gets busy." Reid might have looked put-upon, or it might just have been the stress of the day.  
  
"Sounds familiar," Prentiss teased.  
  
"I'm not having this argument again, but it's not going to kill _me_ , if I skip a meal." Reid stopped as his eyes caught on the containers on the table and darted up to Hafidha. "If I'd known you were--"  
  
"Don't worry about it. I'm not sure 'too much food' is going to be a problem, tonight." Hafidha winked at Prentiss. "Gotta feed the brain."  
  
Prentiss studied Hafidha, remembering the walk to the pastry shop, in the fall, and after a glance at Langly, she looked up at Reid, inquiringly.  
  
Before he could answer, Hafidha beat him to it. "Hi, I'm the Gates in 'Gates Metabolic Disorder', and yes, he does. And Chaz. That's why we eat so much. No, we're not technically a cluster, because none of us grew up in the same place and at least one of us became symptomatic somewhere else."  
  
"I've got a predisposition," Mary volunteered, "but, there _is_ a cluster where I grew up."  
  
Prentiss tipped her head. "New Year's in Nebraska..."  
  
Reid nodded. "He's sick, and we wanted to..." He shrugged. "But, there's definitely a cluster in Nebraska. There's at least ten cases born and still living in or near Lincoln, which dramatically exceeds the nationwide rate. It seemed like somewhere we should go, he should go."  
  
"You go to Nebraska to find a doctor for your boyfriend's rare disorder," Prentiss started, and Reid let the misconception slide. They'd seen a doctor. Mary was sitting right here. "And while you're there, you slip and fall into an ACTF case that now has you pursued by international assassins." She paused, looking up at him, contemplatively. "That is unmistakeably something that would happen to you. And probably only to you."  
  
"Nah, that's not just him. I've heard the stories about 'Mr Dickhead', over there." Mary gestured at Langly. "But, if you're both like this, maybe I should sit further away. Or closer; I am a doctor."  
  
"It's not just them. I'm not sure Chaz has had a successful vacation in years. He goes out to jump off cliffs, and then we get inquiries from the locals, and he won't really talk about it, when he gets back. 'Nothing important' or 'I was just in the way'." Hafidha rolled her eyes and put her feet on the coffee table, stealing pretzels from Langly, who was too distracted to notice there even were pretzels, yet. "And nobody gets it. It's not the job, or it would be happening to me, to you--"  
  
"There was that one time you got blown up by terrorists, _Emily_." Whatever he might say about it, Reid was still pissed about that, and moreso when he was already dealing with the second relatively personal attempt on his life in ten days.  
  
"That was absolutely the job, but that was the State Department." Prentiss twisted around in her chair to get a better look at Reid. "Are you telling me you _weren't_ on vacation?"  
  
"Oh, no. I was absolutely on vacation. You made sure of that. And Villette was on medical leave. And we really were just in Nebraska for personal reasons. Unfortunately, those personal reasons put us directly in the path of some people who also have an interest in them, and in killing us for being involved."  
  
"What... even happened? I mean, in the vaguest possible terms." Prentiss leaned over and stole a pretzel.  
  
"Frank bought a house in Nebraska that used to belong to some people who'd made... a business deal, about fifty years ago, with some people involved in an extremely illegal project. But, the homeowners were victims, not conspirators." Reid finally half-sat on the arm of the couch, still listening for the coffee maker to finish. "The homeowners, now deceased, were related to one or more of the Lincoln cluster, and that's why he bought the house -- to examine the environment in a known location. But, the other side of the business deal is afraid that something else was hidden in the house or grounds, that would implicate their organisation, so they're trying to get rid of the house and everyone in it."  
  
"So, basically, it's a mob case, except it's not the mob." Prentiss squinted up at Reid. "Spencer, it's not the mob, _right_?"  
  
"No. It is absolutely not the mob. The mob might actually be easier to deal with. It's not _any_ ethnicity-based organised crime group. In fact, I'm... not sure it even qualifies as 'organised crime' under the current interpretations of the statutes. It is, however, an organisation that spent a lot of money on a goal they were never sure they achieved, and may still be trying to achieve, and regardless of the ethics involved in what they're doing, at least one iteration -- that we tripped over in Nebraska -- was definitely illegal in several regards."  
  
"I'm not sure we've ever seen anything quite like it. At least not in the private sector, in this country." Hafidha shrugged and grabbed one of Langly's hands, dragging it into the pretzel bowl.  
  
"What are you--?" Langly squawked, twisting out of her grip and looking down at his hand. "Oh. Hey. Thanks."  
  
"You get anything we don't already know?" Hafidha asked, stealing another pretzel, in a blatant reminder for Langly to actually put food in his mouth.  
  
"Yeah, a lot. Only some of it can be proved, but most importantly, Kim of Bedlam is working out of _Canada_."  
  
"I still have friends in the State Department," Prentiss volunteered.  
  
"That's great, except you're not supposed to know anything about what's going on, here," Hafidha reminded her.  
  
Prentiss nodded. "Like Fitzgerald, then. You clean the anomalous parts out, and give me something clean and relatively accurate, and I'll see if we can't get the right people involved."  
  
"Give me a day or two," Langly said, quietly, a pretzel in his teeth. "I need to figure this out. It's not just 'there's some assassins in Canada', it's how legitimate they probably look from the outside, and how well they can cover their own tracks. If you get the Canadians to start sticking their nose in things, the only thing we've done is warn them we're coming and maybe get more people killed. Just give me a couple of days to find something we can actually use."  
  
"Are you making another deal with the source Fitz doesn't like?" Reid asked, cautiously, hoping to remind Langly that two people who knew better than he did had judged that last contact to be dangerous.  
  
"No. Different source. Different source, a whole lot closer." Langly's eyes focused, for a moment, and he scooped up a few more pretzels, pointing at Reid with one, before he took a bite. "He's not going to screw me, _yet_ , because he's got a personal interest in the man at the top taking a short trip to the bottom."  
  
"'Yet' being the operative word." Reid sighed.

* * *

Chaz knelt on the floor, on one side of the coffee table, an empty container to one side of him and a half-empty one with a fork in it in front of him. "Okay, run this by me again? You know a guy who knows a guy who used to work for Kim of Bedlam?"  
  
"I know a guy who knows a guy who used to be Kim of Bedlam's _boss_. There were some disagreements, a little restructuring, I don't fucking know. Some shit happened, and now Bossman is on an extended vacation, and Kim is running the place." Langly shoved a huge spoonful of Watergate salad into his mouth and made a contented sound, holding up a finger until he swallowed. "But, Kim occasionally makes the kind of decisions that Bossman would not have approved of, and while this may not be one of them, my guy is willing to make us out to be heroes to Bossman, if we can find proof of certain things. At which point, Bossman thanks us, cancels the contract, and tells Kim to go sit in the corner and think about what he's done. We may also be able to leverage it for information about the Society, since we're not asking who they are -- we already know who they are. We know just enough about what's happening that asking for the rest of it isn't going to be idiotic. I'm also told Bossman has a certain weakness for orphans and foster kids, so I'm hoping 'Hey, I'm a clone and I don't know who my family is' will get me somewhere, when we get that far."  
  
"How do you know your source is legitimate?" Reid asked, once again perched on the corner of the sofa, this time with a fresh cup of coffee.  
  
"I used to know him, when I was still alive. Then he moved to Canada, with this crazy raver. Turns out the raver was the disowned kid of some obscenely rich and formerly political family, and he had a way of getting people to do things for him, because he was cute or something. Turns out he had some actual talents, too, but it took my dude a little longer to figure that out, because the crazy raver didn't trust him, yet. Anyway, yeah, he's pretty solid. And he'll tell you the absolute facts about things, but not always the right reasons behind those facts, so it's... you're better off stripping down everything he says to the bare essentials." Langly shrugged with one shoulder and kept eating. "But, I know who he knows, so I know this is good."  
  
"How do you know this isn't a trap?" Hafidha asked from where she occupied almost all of the couch that Langly didn't. "You know who this guy knows. You know his info on Kim of Bedlam is solid. How do you know the info isn't _too_ good? How do you know it isn't true because he's setting you up?"  
  
"People who are setting you up don't usually try to save your life, first. That said, he _might_ be setting me up, even if I don't see how it benefits him. But, it doesn't matter, because as far as I know, Kim's still using traditional hardware and security methods, and you and me are not." Langly shook his head. "He's really good, but he's not _us_."  
  
"Do I want to know why you have a source who knows you from before you were dead? I mean, that seems a little..." Chaz chewed a bite of casserole contemplatively. "... counterproductive."  
  
"I keep telling him I'm not the droid he's looking for, but he keeps coming back, anyway. For some reason, he really wants it to be me. And apparently, he really wants me to force Kim to surrender Bedlam to the old boss." Langly shook his head. "I don't know. What I do know is that I'm holding some very interesting information, and I want to compare it to what you pulled off the phone."  
  
"Well, the phone was mostly interesting for what wasn't on it any more." Hafidha leaned back against the arm of the couch, one foot on the coffee table, and tried to decide where to begin. "Narcisse didn't take out the power."  
  
"Because she had to get on the helicopter." Mary nodded, still in the same seat she'd been in when Prentiss left. "You can't make it between those places that fast."  
  
"Well, that's the thing. There's no physical signs of entry at the relay station. So, nobody had to get into it, but it still wasn't her. Someone else did it for her, just like someone else opened the prison, but it _looks like_ she did it, at first glance." Hafidha flicked her fingers toward Langly, and he groaned.  
  
"You can track the IP back to a computer that was left where it was used, and it lines up with the GPS on the phone." He blinked. "Then why isn't it her?"  
  
"The texts."  
  
"You could've _started_ with that."  
  
"The phone turns on for the first time after it's in DC, which means she didn't walk out of the prison and find it somewhere waiting for her. Either she bought it or it was a gift, and given the time, I'm betting on gift. She didn't make it back to DC that fast without help, and I'm pretty sure she didn't get picked up by some random good samaritan. Not on that stretch. Not dressed like that."  
  
Chaz put the second empty container into the first. "So, she got picked up by someone who gave her a ride and a phone, probably clothes, and possibly the drone. Why didn't she come here sooner?"  
  
"Someone obviously didn't tell her where to find us." Reid rubbed his forehead, trying to hold off the headache the coffee wasn't working on. "But, why?"  
  
"It's supposed to look like an accident, right?" Mary looked around the table. "I don't really know anything about this lady except what you've said, but she's supposed to be a good hacker and really into manipulating people, right? So far, nothing that's happened is something she couldn't have done herself. If she comes straight here, she's got information. If she goes looking for you and ends up here, after a few days, it's because she finally found you and came up with a plan."  
  
Reid tipped his head toward Mary and regretted it instantly. "She's right. Too fast and it would look like she had outside help, instead of just inside help. And we know she's had inside help before."  
  
"And whether or not she does, now, someone's going to get blamed for it." Chaz unfolded himself backward and stretched his legs. "What do the texts actually say?"  
  
"The first exchange establishes that she knows how to use a drone, and that she can pick one up from a locker in a particular gym at a specific time. We'll deal with the gym in a minute, but she confirms the pickup with an X. I'm assuming, by that point, she's been informed of what she's supposed to be doing for these people. And since at least one part of that is to kill the two of you, it's probably a pretty easy sell. Anyway, I'm assuming because the next exchange is about a lead on our location."  
  
"Muringa didn't call about anyone else looking for me, after Benally. She wasn't even out, when Benally called." Langly eyed Hafidha suspiciously, until Reid tapped him on the head.  
  
"My GPS is on. She knows my number; she knows my _phone_. But, we didn't turn the GPS back on until almost a day later. She'd have been blind for the first twenty-odd hours. She got out on Monday night, and she showed up here on Thursday night. That's three days, and she couldn't have known where we were until Tuesday night at the earliest, so it's two days. Which means the texts about our location are... Tuesday night or Wednesday morning?"  
  
"Middle of the night. About fuckthirty Wednesday morning," Hafidha agreed. "The replies tell her to be patient, and they'll deliver what she needs 'to make her dreams come true'. Thursday afternoon, the second set of pickup instructions come in, and those put her right where she needs to be when the power goes out. Once she confirms the pickup, the instructions are to go to the helicopter and show the identification she's been given."  
  
"So, she didn't just stow away on the helicopter, which suggests that may not have been a traffic report." Reid put his foot up on the arm of the couch to rest his head against his knee. "Has anyone looked at that?"  
  
"Not yet! The investigation's just started, and we have a head start on _everyone_." Hafidha sounded more cheerful than anyone had a right to be after the night they'd had, but there was an edge of strain to her words.  
  
"Of all the things that might be a setup, the phone seems like it should be one," Chaz pointed out, absently rubbing his knee against the ache in Reid's. "Who would leave that much information for us to find? Not Narcisse -- she's supposed to be good at erasing herself. Kim of Bedlam is supposed to be an expert in making his contractors vanish. Why is it this easy to get--"  
  
"It's not." Hafidha tipped her head and raised an eyebrow at him. "The fact that there's such a small amount of data makes it easier. It's a new phone, so there's not garbage erasures to fish through. Everything that's been erased is relevant. And yes, it's been overwritten in the erasure process, because someone does know what they're doing, but not overwritten enough, because I've been protecting the phone since we found it. Interestingly, despite being an AT&T phone, it's been modified so it can't connect to a cellular network, but only to wifi, which means we _don't_ have provider records for these texts, even though we have the phone. So, no. They really do know what they're doing. I'm just _better_. Someone thought they'd be up against normal people, who would've lost the phone before even finding the phone."  
  
"You know they're going to figure out we've got the phone, if you keep blocking them," Langly pointed out, scraping the bottom of the bowl.  
  
"Then we're just going to have to follow that signal home, before they stop sending it. Not that I think it's going to go anywhere we care about, but..."  
  
"Someone always makes a mistake," Langly agreed.


	13. Chapter 13

Reid left a light on, the kitchen light, and the door of the bedroom ever so slightly cracked, so he could see it. It was just enough to make out the edges of things, just enough to see well enough that he could close his eyes without worrying about the things he couldn't see. Much. But, for a change, the light served a second purpose, as well. As long as it was on, the building had power. If he woke up in the dark, it would be because something was actually wrong.  
  
But, for the moment, he lay in bed, turned away from the door, his face pressed against Langly's neck -- a long, slow kiss that held Langly's pulse against his lips, a reminder that they were both still alive. And really, that was the most important thing. For the second time, the same person had tried to kill them, and they were both still here. And this time, she wasn't. He knew he was supposed to feel bad about that, like he'd done something wrong in arranging Narcisse's death, and maybe one day he would. But, he hadn't let her out of prison. He hadn't invited her to try again. He hadn't even killed her. He'd stepped back and told Hafidha to take the shot she had. And once Chaz went down, there was only one shot she'd take, and they both knew it. But, Chaz had made that choice at the last possible second. Still, he knew he was supposed to feel some sort of regret, instead of the cautious relief of having had _one_ immediate danger removed from his path.  
  
Right now, he was simply grateful they were still alive, and it was all he was allowed to be, for a few hours, for however long it took for something to change. He'd been over what they had a hundred times, over and over, he looked for something he'd missed. But, there wasn't anything. There were holes in what they knew, and nothing to fill those holes, not even a path to the missing information. His notes were scattered with 'why' and 'this doesn't make sense'. He could see the shape of something, and he was pretty sure of what it was, but where and how remained opaque, as well as who, to some degree. What and why, in the broadest sense, he could make out. And maybe if he looked at it one more--  
  
"Hey." Langly's voice cut through his annoyance. "You forget what you were doing?"  
  
Reid cleared his throat and lifted his head, offering an apologetic look. "Maybe? I'm just..."  
  
"We did just almost get killed," Langly pointed out, as he stretched under Reid, smacking his wrist into the wall above the bed. "You sure you're okay?"  
  
"Of course I'm..." Reid trailed off, watching Langly's face turn sceptical. "No. I'm not."  
  
"You want to get up? I'll make another pot of coffee."  
  
"No, I really don't. I want to be able to enjoy being here, with you, without--"  
  
"Without worrying that we took out the obvious assassin, who was just cover for somebody else."  
  
Reid blinked a few times. "I hadn't gotten that far, but thanks. Now that's on the list, too."  
  
Langly winced. "Sorry." After a moment, he reached up and cautiously touched Reid's cheek. "Come back down here, and I'll be distracting? I mean, I'm pretty distracting, just not usually ... well, that one time. And that other time. But, I'm not even wearing a cocktail dress."  
  
Reid blinked a few more times, bemused, rather than horrified. "I really have to say I like you better without the cocktail dress."  
  
"You haven't _seen_ the cocktail dress, and if god is good, you _won't_. Still..."  
  
"See, and that's all I need to know about it." Reid leaned back down, laying kisses along the edge of Langly's jaw. "You don't like it. You don't just not like it, you dislike it. That means you look better without it, by default."  
  
"Or you just have an inexplicable desire to see me naked," Langly argued, tipping his chin out of Reid's way.  
  
"It is entirely explicable, and you'd know that if anyone had gotten the kind of pictures of you that you've gotten of me." Reid nipped at Langly's collarbone.  
  
"Because that really made you look at _yourself_ differently," Langly drawled, winding a leg around Reid's.  
  
Reid pushed himself up, consideration sharp on his face. "Fine, even if you continue to insist it's inexplicable, it's also not applicable, because you're almost never naked. You are right now wearing a shirt, and I'm pretty sure you look better in it than you would in any cocktail dress."  
  
"Pretty sure Sol Todd disagrees with you."  
  
"Pretty sure Sol Todd's not in love with you, although I wouldn't blame him if he were." A smug smile crept across Reid's face, and his eyes sparkled in the dim light.  
  
Langly squeezed his eyes shut. "Frohike would never let me live that down."  
  
"You could say that of almost anything." Reid nuzzled under Langly's chin. "The important part of that, in case I was too subtle about it, was that I love you."  
  
"Again, completely irrational, probably trauma-related," Langly teased. "But, that case is finally over, so I guess we'll find out, huh." Something else occurred to him, before Reid could voice a response. "You still love me even though I'm a clone and the people behind the project that created me are trying to kill us?"  
  
"I'm not sure any of that is relevant. I never met your parents, either. This has never been about where you came from, and it's always been about who you are. Why would it _matter_ that you're a clone? I might be a little upset that people are trying to kill us, but that's hardly your fault, and it's a feature of my job. People are trying to kill me fairly regularly, and in this case, they're trying to ... _are_ they trying to kill you?" Reid stopped, his eyelashes catching in the stubble on Langly's neck. "I'd think you're worth more alive, at least until they can figure out if you're what they were trying to do."  
  
"Narcisse is a pretty solid suggestion that, yeah, whatever they wanted thirty-something years ago, they're content to kill me, now. Maybe all they really need is samples. They could reproduce me pretty easily, maybe get a less ... _difficult_ version." Langly waited, but Reid didn't say anything for a long few moments. "Thanks for not making a joke about me being easy."  
  
"Sorry, I got distracted by the idea that they could reproduce you directly -- an unedited copy."  
  
"Planning your clone harem?"  
  
"One of you is enough, and I like this one of you the best." One of Reid's hands slid down Langly's side, settling on his hip. "I'm really not sure that recreating you from samples is a wise use of resources for the Society, when measured against just taking you alive."  
  
"Yeah, but I'm an earlier model, anyway. They got better, later. And speaking of better, how the hell do you know I'm the best one of us? Did you even get that close to Stewart?" Langly couldn't tip his chin back down with Reid's head in the way, and after a few tries, he gave up and just wrapped his arms around Reid, instead.  
  
"Why, out of all of them, would you think I'd be interested in _Stewart_?"  
  
"Most like me, I guess. But, more, you know... _lawful_. Less likely to give you an ulcer."  
  
"You make a compelling point, but I hold that I do still have the best clone. After all, I love you, and I'm notoriously picky about these things."  
  
Langly snorted. "So, yours is the best, because you said so."  
  
"Considering that 'the best' in this case is what makes me happy, I think my vote is the only one that counts. So, yes. You're the best, because I said so." Reid chuffed in amusement. "Which may be the first time I've ever used that argument."

* * *

Contrary to the advice of everyone present, and possibly just to be contrary, Chaz stayed up, keeping Hafidha company in the living room, as she picked through the fragments she'd gathered that day. He tried to fit them into what they already knew, but he knew it wasn't going to go together quite right until Langly got a look at it. Langly was still hiding things, after all, and while Chaz understood exactly why, it did make things just a little more difficult to sort, while Langly slept off several days of surveillance.  
  
And that was the other reason he was still awake, still out here: Reid and Langly needed a night alone. Even from the next room, even trying not to slip himself into what was happening, he could feel the weight Reid still carried from the last time, the constant comparisons to how this had ended before, how it could have ended now. And running under it, he could feel Reid's concerns about _him_.  
  
Nine days -- ten, now -- since Jack Dandy had shot himself in Chaz's bedroom. And no, the gunshot over him and the splash of blood on him didn't help at all with what he still felt about that, but it was different. No matter which way he turned it, he couldn't quite make this his fault, not in a way that mattered. He'd stayed in his own head through the whole thing -- well, his and Reid's, but that didn't count -- and when he could have made a decision, he took himself out of play, instead. Which, in its own way, was a decision. But, unlike Jack, he hadn't pushed Narcisse into any of this. Not into pursuing them, not into her seething hatred of the two men who'd foiled her last attempt on them, not even into standing still so Hafs could take that shot. However sure he'd been that she'd stand still until he hit the ground, it hadn't been a certainty. Either way, assault with a deadly weapon, and she'd been shot in the middle of it.  
  
And why couldn't he find it in himself to feel that way about Jack Dandy, the man who'd held a knife to his throat and a gun to Reid's head? If anything, that situation had been a lot more dangerous than this one. Why, even if he had been responsible, which Reid swore up and down he wasn't, could he not let that go? He knew why. He knew exactly why. And he closed that box and put it back on the shelf where it belonged.  
  
Hafidha shoved his shoulder with one foot. "Earth to Chaz, is signal getting through?"  
  
"Sorry, did you ask me something? Before that, I mean."  
  
"Not what I asked you, but are you sure you should be awake? You're looking kind of spacey."  
  
"I'm fine. Just... thinking about something that's not actually relevant."  
  
Hafidha struggled to sound sympathetic. Usually, she actually would be, but she'd watched Chaz dig this hole and then fill it in on top of himself. "I know it's hard sharing a bathroom with her, but it's only another couple of weeks, if it even takes that long. I wish she was into you, but--"  
  
A surprised laugh slipped out of Chaz's mouth, and he shot Hafidha a mildly horrified look. "That... Is that the story she's sticking to?"  
  
"She's ... not. I was there, platypus. You almost drank yourself into a coma." Hafidha looked concerned.  
  
"Things changed in Saltville. She decided to try again. Now, _I'm_ not interested." Chaz shook his head. "Anyway, no, that's not what I'm thinking about. What were you trying to get my attention for?"  
  
"Cleaning crew. Ringo's going to want to hire one for next door, as soon as possible. If someone's trying to get in here, trying to get eyes in here, that would be the easiest way to do it, if they didn't get in with the enormous number of people who were in here last night." Hafidha dropped both her feet back into Chaz's lap. "And if they were here, they didn't leave anything behind. Nothing's recording that shouldn't be, nothing's transmitting that we don't own. And Ringo's story about Vegas aside, it's not that easy to come in as a first responder or a scene tech, if you're travelling with a team that should know who you are."  
  
"But, replacing part of a cleaning crew could be easier. Replacing an _entire_ cleaning crew would be even easier than that," Chaz agreed, tipping his head back to stare at where the opposite wall met the ceiling. "In which case, they hadn't necessarily meant for Narcisse to succeed, but for us to just let down our guard after she failed. Great if she does get us, but not particularly essential. But, still, the cleaning crew can't just kill us. It's hard to make it look like an accident or a suicide when you've got five people."  
  
"Unless it's a murder-suicide. And if it is, anyone who knows us is going to try to hang it on you or Spencer."  
  
"I'm a lot less viable to someone who doesn't know us _well_. Spencer, on the other hand, is a tragedy waiting to happen, on paper. He's a lot more stable than he looks like he should be. I'm pretty sure anyone else would've jumped off a building, by now." Or a bridge. Or the Hoover Dam.  
  
"You don't think you'd--"  
  
"Have killed myself? I don't know. I do know that I'd have starved to death in a Mexican jail, so the point's kind of moot." Chaz shrugged.  
  
Hafidha lifted one foot out of Chaz's lap and put it on his shoulder, again, shoving much harder, this time. "You, of all people, wouldn't have ended up in a Mexican jail."  
  
Another shrug. "I could've. Before. And before is really not enough of a step down that I wouldn't have starved to death, if I did. Either way, Spencer's the obvious choice for a murder-suicide, but I don't think it's going to play. Not _now_. Not right after Narcisse."  
  
"Okay, so what's your scenario?"  
  
"They're not going to want to park on the street. More than that, any rational building owner isn't going to want them to park on the street. So, they'll park in the garage under the building, which we've mostly kept closed, until this point, to prevent anyone from getting in that way." Chaz grabbed Hafidha's ankle and dropped her foot back into his lap. "My car, Spencer's car, and Frank's motorcycle are down there, and going back and forth to the van for equipment would probably cover the time needed to arrange one or more accidents. And we're not really going to be able to demonstrate that, in a timely fashion."  
  
"Except on video." Hafidha smiled brightly.  
  
"After what happened in Saltville, we have to assume the main video feed down there is going to experience some errors, that would be passed off as some piece of their equipment that occasionally interferes with signal in certain ranges. Of course, the cameras down there aren't wireless, so that's going to be a hard sell. Accidentally blinding the camera at a critical moment with an alternate light source, on the other hand..."  
  
"Yeah, the alternate light source would actually block us. If the camera can't see, we can't make it see. We've got a couple of modes to try, though, so we might still get _something_." Hafidha hummed, thoughtfully, picking through the device that had sent the destruction instruction to Narcisse's phone, but there was nothing to be found. It was single-use hardware, and probably going to be stripped into parts and split into a few other things. "Okay, so, best case, they actually go after our cars, because they're in the garage. Worst case, they come in to do an in-person examination of the building, and don't leave anything behind. Somewhere in the middle, they come in and plant bugs."  
  
"I thought planting bugs was best case," Chaz argued, debating getting up and trying to find ingredients for a chocolate pie. "If they bug us, we should be able to follow those home."  
  
"If they screw up your car, we may be the first people in history to take some Bedlam Boys _alive_."  
  
"Hafs? Even if we take them alive, they're not going to tell us anything. Not in a way we can actually _use_."  
  
Hafidha's smile looked a little grim. "Oh, they'll tell _you_ whatever you ask them, and then you tell me, and I use that to get what we need."  
  
"You know that every time I do that, it gets just a little harder to..." Chaz sighed and shook his head. "Yeah, of course I will. International assassins. This is not the time for me to develop a stronger sense of ethics or self-preservation, thank you, Spencer."  
  
"I think you might want a stronger sense of self-preservation in general. You just almost got killed twice in two weeks, while bait."  
  
"Point made and taken, but not right now."


	14. Chapter 14

"I'm worried about Reid," Rossi said, turning away from the door he'd closed behind him. "He's been different, since you let the ACTF bring him back to full-time, and I have some concerns that his near-constant personal involvement in major cases -- mostly cases we're not cleared to hear about -- is taking a toll on him. Not least because he _can't_ discuss them with us."  
  
"That's because it is, Dave." Prentiss sighed and turned off her monitor. "But, there's not a lot we can do about that, _right now_. I was thinking that after people are no longer trying to kill him, I might put him on psych leave for a few weeks -- assuming that's even going to help, given his last three attempts to go on vacation -- but I can't do it now. Anything we could or would do to help, under normal circumstances is..." She made a hopeless gesture.  
  
"Is going to put him in more danger, from these unknown assassins." Rossi took a moment to find the phrasing he wanted. "Do we have confirmation of... anything, on these guys? Who they are? Where they're from? Why they're trying to kill Reid?"  
  
"You think he's delusional." Prentiss's gaze sharpened, her face tactfully expressionless.  
  
"I think he's been under an inordinate amount of stress, recently, and I want to make sure that his _judgement_ isn't compromised." Rossi finally took one of the seats in front of Prentiss's desk. "Especially now, after this thing with Narcisse. She's really dead?"  
  
"Agent Gates put a large-calibre round through the side of her head. She's very dead. Which reminds me that I'm now very interested in why the ACTF is using rounds that size, but that's not relevant to the matter under discussion." Prentiss took a deep breath. "Gates and Arroway have evidence that the assassins -- a known terrorist group, apparently -- released Narcisse from prison, picked her up, supplied her, and delivered her to the building. Last week, a civilian contractor working on part of the case they picked up in Nebraska died under suspicious circumstances, and everything relating her to the case was stolen. It's a mob case, but with less mob, and it is absolutely ACTF's. I offered a contact, if they needed assistance out of the country, but they're trying to learn a little more about the group, and to remove the anomalous aspects from the file, before they take me up on that."  
  
"So, what you're telling me is that Reid's not making mistakes, he's just in the middle of yet another one of those things that only happen to him."  
  
"I've been reliably informed these things also happen to Villette."  
  
"There really are two of him, aren't there?"

* * *

Reid woke up warm, in a windowless bedroom, curled up under Langly's chin, with Chaz pressed against his back. And there was no sense of panic, there. Even though they'd been separate, since Chaz slipped out and left him alone with Langly, that morning, he could still tell, even in his sleep, that the body behind him was part of him. And he liked it that way, which was something he couldn't have seen himself saying, even a year ago. The very idea of being so exposed was still terrifying when he considered it rationally, but lying in bed between these two men, one of whom knew him better than people who'd known him for a third of his life was something he thought he might aspire to, for the rest of his life, if this didn't last.  
  
But, it would last, he thought. And that was something he'd let Chaz realise on his own. It would last because he didn't have to live with Langly's dirty laundry, but they were comfortable enough to functionally have keys to each other's domains, even if that wasn't quite true in the literal sense. It would last because despite having Idlewood at his disposal, Chaz had come to _them_ , after what happened in Midland, and more to the point, they'd all survived the experience. It would last because this wasn't like any relationship he'd had before, and no one was dead, yet, and no one was disappointed in him or frustrated with his job. These were people who could take 'Sorry about dinner, I have to go to Ohio for a while', but still make him feel not just wanted, but like he _belonged_ , when they were finally in the same room.  
  
It had taken him a lot of years to articulate that distinction, and when he finally did it was with the understanding that the latter was something he might never achieve, and that the former would never be good enough. But, he had something, now, that was more than enough. Something better than he'd ever imagined, because so much of his imagination had been constrained by expectation, in this regard. Perhaps, just maybe, Chaz was right, and there was something to be said for stepping off cliffs. Not that he had any intention of finding that out in any literal sense.  
  
The change in his breathing must have woken Langly, who made a quiet sound of contentment and draped an arm across him.  
  
"Hey, you up?" The words were thick with sleep.  
  
"If you mean that the way I hope you do, yes. If you didn't, I decline to incriminate myself, at this time." Reid tried to figure out how to stop leaning on Langly without waking Chaz.  
  
" _I'm_ up," Chaz volunteered, shifting so his back wasn't pressed sticky-close to Reid's, "in any way you meant that."  
  
"Sorry." It was a reflexive apology -- Reid assumed he'd woken Chaz, just like he'd probably woken Langly.  
  
"Wasn't you. I'm just not sleeping well, right now."  
  
"And who the hell is surprised, between wearing brains for the second time this week--"  
  
"Two weeks," Reid corrected. "It's been ten days, I think?"  
  
"Second time in _two_ weeks, and the raging boner." Langly twisted out from under Reid and poked Chaz in the back of the shoulder. "We could do something about one of those things, but given the other, I'm pretty sure you'd rather we _didn't_."  
  
Chaz finally rolled over, letting Reid fall flat between him and Langly. "Make sure a distraction isn't going to kill us, and I'll show you how wrong you are."  
  
"I should get a shower," Reid decided, trying to slip out from between them.  
  
"Because you want a shower, or because you think you're not invited?" Chaz asked, and Reid realised that the space between them was still there.  
  
"He's believable when he says shit like that because he _always_ wants a shower," Langly protested.  
  
"Not _always_!"  
  
"I have seen you get out of the shower, open the bathroom door, and then turn around and get back in the shower."  
  
"Because there is such a thing as too much humidity!" Reid huffed and sat up, taking the blankets with him.  
  
"There's such a thing as conveniently not answering the question, which is an answer in itself." Chaz tossed his side of the blankets onto Langly, so Reid could get up. "You're not interested, right now."  
  
"I am more interested than I have any business being." Reid met Chaz's eyes, a long, hard look. "But, we're not at home, for any generally accepted value thereof, and Hafidha needs to sleep."  
  
Langly nodded. "I know. That's why I'm already taking things back."  
  
"You really think you can--" Reid twisted around and stopped in the middle of the sentence. "Of course you can. Cream cheese frosting, and questions I'm not asking. But, as dangerous as that was, it wasn't our _lives_."  
  
"I was thinking I might just..." Langly cleared his throat and looked at anything but the bread in this federal fucksandwich. "... watch."  
  
A slow smile spread across Chaz's face. "That's right. We usually pass you back and forth -- because you're the hot one, if you still needed proof of that -- but, when you're with us, we're a little less interested in each other. You haven't had the same opportunities we've had." His eyes grew serious. "But, Spencer's right. I'm not sure this is the time or the place for that."  
  
Langly rolled his eyes. "Please, the hardware is good enough to warn me if I have to care, and even if it wasn't, I have never dropped a thread because I was jizzing in my pants."  
  
"Skill or lack of opportunity?" Chaz teased, unable to quite twist himself out of the way of the pillow Langly belted him with.  
  
"Skill," Reid assured him, without missing a beat. "And I should not have eaten that much frosting."  
  
Chaz nudged Reid's mind with a query, only to receive a raised eyebrow in reply.  
  
Just then, Langly's phone chirped in exactly the way it didn't usually, and Langly rolled his eyes as if this were a massive imposition, before glancing over his shoulder to address the piece of hardware as if it were another person in the room. "Jesus christ, I'm not going to _do it_ , I just don't want to put on my god damn pants."  
  
"You still want a shower?" Chaz asked, looking like he was struggling to keep a straight face.  
  
Reid stared at Langly in utter bemusement. "Ah... you know, I think maybe it would be better to shower after, if you don't mind that I'm..."  
  
"Just because I left the two of you to yourselves doesn't mean I'm not pretty damn sure of what you were doing with that time, at least in the general sense. I'd like to think I know you well enough to guess at the particulars, but I've been surprised, before." The smile that followed was a hesitant invitation.  
  
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you to deal with that by yourself, but I ... Sometimes there's only enough of me for one of us." Reid's face settled into the kind of stillness that suggested there were things going on that he didn't see fit to discuss.  
  
"You invited me," Chaz reminded him, "and I turned you down, because I know that. And I also know that none of what happened was about me, and I wasn't actually injured -- a small burn on my arm and a bruise on my hip that were gone within the hour don't really count. This was the case that brought the two of you together, and it was finally over, and you needed to decide what that meant." He tipped his head, lips thinning as he tried not to smile. "You want a shower, so I'm guessing that went well."  
  
"This case was _already_ over. The relationship survived, we survived."  
  
"And then we got fantastically laid," Langly threw in, his attention already divided between the scene on the bed and the pursuit of better information. "And that was definitely the best part of the entire thing."  
  
"Getting laid is better than getting shot at?" Chaz raised his eyebrows. "I never would've guessed."  
  
Reid couldn't quite swallow a laugh, and his shoulders twitched as he choked on it. "Well, neither of _us_ got shot at last night, so maybe I should thank our hero for--"  
  
"You could try, but I don't think Hafs is that into you," Chaz teased, and as the look of horror flashed across Reid's face, he thought he'd gone too far.  
  
"Her loss," Reid decided, offering his hand and his mind to his evil twin.

* * *

Langly, with his intermittent strings of expletives and his half-attentive eye had long since become an afterthought. No, in the moment, all Chaz had room for in his overloaded perceptions was Spencer. They lay wound around each other, lean limbs slick with sweat, breathing each other's air. They were almost as close in body as they were in mind. And where their minds had run together, sparks and flashes of sensation wound together in impossible configurations, one bright, breathless moment after another. And he could feel the echoes of the night before trying to squeeze between them, trying to poison the pool of perfect moments they drew from, but really, it was all a matter of light and angle, in the end, wasn't it? And between them, if they could keep it together, there was no path for that darkness. On the other hand, if they couldn't...  
  
But, they would. He slipped down a bit, feeling the skin catch on the sweat, as he nudged Spencer's chin up and buried his face against the damp skin beneath. Fresh air, air they hadn't both re-breathed a dozen times, was dizzying. It went straight to his head, and the rush of oxygen licked through his body, waking nerves he'd thought were already saturated with sensation. And the scent of it was purely, unmistakeably Spencer. He'd know that smell in a dark room. He'd know it in a rose garden. He could tell it from the smell of his own skin, which if he needed another reason they weren't one person, provided an excellent one, but the way Spencer's hands kneaded at his scars was a far better reason.  
  
He could feel that, now, separate to the dreams of lightning in his skin, the humming in his bones, and he loved it.  
  
 _Stop_.  
  
Chaz drew back, feeling Spencer's faint inquiry following him as he reconsidered that thought. _He loved it_. But, it was still true. He loved every second of it, every touch of Spencer's fingers against the half-dead skin, the places where it still ached if he turned his head the wrong way, the relief of fingertips and knuckles pressing against parts of his back he couldn't reach. Warmth poured through him, and it took him a few breaths to recognise that it wasn't desire, it wasn't _wanting_ , it was _having_. And for the first time, there was no uncertainty. There was no question of how long it would be before the truth of him came out, or some version of it, and the carefully constructed, cautiously distant romance collapsed under it. There was no romance. There would never be romance, because romance was the construction of an illusion that they just didn't need.  
  
Where they touched, they were perfect, and they were both good enough to keep everything else out of the way. And the proof of that was in the way a touch, a kiss, a shared breath, a shared vision of a lust that joined their bodies as closely as their minds drove out the flickers of fear and the lingering ghost of blood. Time stretched like hot caramel, and the pleasure they spun between them in sweat and spit seemed endless. The skin against his fingers felt like an entirely different continent to the lips now back against his own, as if his body couldn't find all the parts of itself, and focused only on those that provided novel sensation. Or, were some of those parts Spencer's? Their body, pressed against itself, giving and taking, knowing the path of every pleasure almost before it began.  
  
This is how it has always been, for them, though this time he thinks they've lost themselves in each other. He hopes he can still find himself in the wake of it, because there are two of them. One and a half, maybe. There is at least three quarters of him that isn't duplicated here in his arms, against his chest, tangled with his legs, and while it doesn't matter, now, it will, eventually. But, they always part just as easily as they came together. It's coming together that's difficult, sometimes, but he's pretty sure it's supposed to be. They're _not_ the same person.  
  
But, right now, they might as well be. The flood of sensation swept through him, hot and tight around their fingers, and their hips pressed tight against their hand. His hand? Maybe. Wet lips, hot breaths, the room is invisible, with his eyes closed, but it still spins. Spencer's memories glinted off the inside of his mind, and in those, Langly's there with them, pressed between them, passed between them, disbelief always underlying the desire in his eyes, though Chaz would be the first to admit that disbelief was probably a rational response to the situation, any of the situations. But, Chaz pushed back with memories that were just the two of them. After all, Langly had opted out of this one. How it had felt to have Spencer's lips against his back, that first time, the panic washed away by the connection between them, the relief of hands on his skin, the shock that shot through him at the first touch of tongue, the thrill of being unafraid. One of them shivered, trying to press even closer, and skin stuck and slid against skin.  
  
They could have this, he thought. Again, _having_ , not wanting. And the next memory put him on his knees, in the shower, in New Hampshire. That had been a strange moment, but the relief at being alive -- and that was why it had come up now. The rush of having survived had faded, by then, but the taste of skin, the smell that was so unmistakeably Spencer, even washed and wet. He could feel their body shiver -- them, this time, not just one -- as the end of the scene replayed, the throbbing against his tongue, the tongue against his cock. And then something changed, the memory smearing back into the realm of fantasy, a third-hand memory, but one of his... sort of. But, here, it was more real than it had been when Langly gave it to him. And because of it, this time, they were separate, his body and Spencer's. And he could feel the hand on his chest, the splayed fingers of Spencer's other hand holding his cock, and it felt strange to be looking up at him, unobscured by the overlay from Spencer looking back down. But, it was a fantasy, and one in which they apparently fucked like normal people, which wasn't a bad thing, it was just very different for _them_.  
  
Even more different for them, the sudden tight and warm and tight sensation as Spencer settled slowly down onto his cock. And in that moment, he knew exactly why Spencer liked Langly so much for this, rather than him, because Langly would _fit_ \-- The thought was gone as Spencer breathed in, tipping his head back, canting his hips back. Under it all, he could still feel teeth against his lip, the desperate clenching of a thigh, one body, two bodies, it didn't matter, all that mattered was the sudden, impossible pressure _right there_. Even as his eyes rolled back in his head, he could still see Spencer panting, perched across his hips. And somewhere, back where his lips were still real, he could feel those breaths in his mouth.  
  
A pleasure so hot it was nearly pain slammed through him, ricocheting off his bones, before everything faded into a warm, soft blackness. Maybe that was the sleep he'd been waiting for.


	15. Chapter 15

Hafidha came back from the kitchen, carrying a bowl of frozen M&Ms and coffee for both of them, which she set on the middle couch cushion, between them. Chaz was asleep, Mary was taking a shower, and despite Langly's protests, Reid was on the roof, trying to regain his sanity after spending a week and change in an enclosed space with four other people.  
  
"So, my source tells me they're going to hit again, soon. He can't get all the way into their system for the same reason we can't -- nothing calls home. But, he's passed on what he's got, including a few new routes and nodes we didn't know about." Langly sketched in the air with his finger and Hafidha nodded, not even looking at the screen. "The problem with what we have, though, is that we can't tell _how_ they're planning to get to us. On the other hand, I can absolutely tell you when. Well. Mostly. I'm pretty sure it's somewhere in the next three days, and I know they're driving, probably from Ohio."  
  
He yawned, and Hafidha took another thread from him, saying, "So, same as we've been doing? Twelve on, twelve off, wake anyone who's not up when we get the first ping?"  
  
Langly nodded, yawning again, and grabbed a handful of Hafidha's M&Ms. "Worked last time. What I do know is that they're going to get into the security system and try to watch us, before they come in."  
  
"Chaz is still sure they're going to go for the garage. Car accidents are a good way to get rid of a large number of people, as opposed to fake suicide, like your geneticist. On the other hand, I'm pretty sure they can stage a murder-suicide pretty well, here, and hang it on Spencer."  
  
Langly chewed for a while, staring contemplatively into the distance, until he swallowed. "Nah, they'd never make it stick. Reid's not the kind of guy who's going to do something like that." He held up a hand. "I know he was ready to walk out there and shoot Narcisse, himself. But, that's exactly the point. She's not us. He wanted to protect us from her. Well, _me_. He wanted to protect _me_. And let me tell you that's something that never happens, somebody tripping over themselves trying to make sure I don't get killed? Had to pinch myself to make sure I was awake."  
  
"You're still not used to that? Every time something happens to--"  
  
"Yeah, I know, but that's not about me. That's about the dead girlfriend we don't talk about. And that's _after_ something happens. This is different." Langly shrugged, washing the chocolate out of his mouth with more of Chaz's vanilla coffee. "You didn't see him standing at the door with a gun in his hand, trying to make sure he could get her before she could see us. I mean, Mary looks a hell of a lot like me in the dark. Either of us would've passed for me for a minute. I can count on one hand the number of people who have or would have stepped in front of a bullet for me."  
  
"Still, I'm pretty sure you've seen even more of his records than I have. You're the one dating him, and if you date like I do..." Hafidha raised her eyebrows and went for a pretzel to break up the chocolate a bit. "So, you know how easy it would be to turn him into a mercy killer, on paper. Like a family annihilator, who shoots the family rather than letting them fall victim to ... whatever. Except in this case, 'whatever' is real, so it's an excellent trigger."  
  
"Yeah, except that doesn't make any sense, because we've got 'whatever' in the bag, for one. And for another, if he was going to do that, wouldn't it have been while we were waiting for the woman hellbent on _torturing us to death_? The worst outcome is already off the table. Nobody's going to believe that, _now_."  
  
"Okay, but they don't know that. They don't know we're watching them. But, they probably _do_ know that Spencer profiles like a serial killer, and he's under a lot of stress right now. Or, you know, they could hang it on me, if they know anything about my past. I'm not a bad candidate, either. In fact, I'm a much better candidate than Spencer, but it's easier to put hands on his data than mine." Hafidha shrugged, bracing her heel on the edge of the coffee table to better balance her own laptop between her thigh and her chest. "Not the point. The point is, whatever they're going to do, they haven't done it, yet, and they're going to be here about as soon as they can drive here from Ohio, which... isn't that long."  
  
Langly nodded, snapping his laptop shut with one hand, as he struggled to get off the couch. "So, we'll do this like we did for Narcisse. I'm going to go have a nap. Wake me if anything exciting happens. If not, I'll take over for you in... eleven and a half hours, or so?"  
  
"Sounds good. Do we want to bring in Penny, for backup?"  
  
"I don't want Penny anywhere near this. They can't catch us. They're trained to catch _her_."

* * *

Reid had been coming to bed, when Langly got up again, and after a few extremely enjoyable minutes, he drifted off into a troubled half-sleep. He'd blown the whole day staring into the distance, albeit well within view of the roof cameras, trying to convince himself he'd done the right thing. The fact that Narcisse had gone after Chaz made it a lot more justifiable that she'd been killed, but Reid knew he'd set her up. He knew Langly was right, and they could have taken her alive, again. But, he also knew that she'd have kept trying, and that she was obviously capable of getting to them even a third time. Still, he'd arranged for someone to be killed. And fundamentally, it still bothered him. On some level, he thought it might bother him less if he'd shot her himself.  
  
And as he tried to sleep, the same arguments replayed again and again across the back of his eyelids. But, he finally managed -- or maybe Chaz managed -- to push it back so he could sleep.  
  
It felt like minutes later that someone was trying to shake him awake, and he whined and slapped at the hand on his shoulder, pulling the blanket over his face.  
  
"Spence, I really think you want to be awake for this."  
  
That wasn't JJ's voice. Who else called him 'Spence'? With a disgruntled whine, he rolled over and glared up at... Mary? " _What?_ "  
  
"Come on, sit up, have some coffee..." Mary held the cup just out of his reach.  
  
"What _time_ is it?" Reid demanded, glad he'd taken the time to wear pyjamas, despite intending to go to bed with Langly in a way that would not have involved them.  
  
"About seven. I know you've only had four hours of sleep, if you passed out as soon as you hit the pillow, but I need you to be awake for this."  
  
She had her doctor voice on, and Reid recognised it. He sat up carefully, eyes never leaving Mary's face. "Where's Langly? The other--"  
  
"Dick's in the living room with Hafs. They're fine. They're dealing with the--"  
  
"Security." Reid grabbed the coffee and tried to get up, but Mary caught him. "If they're trying to get in, we have to be--"  
  
Mary's voice stayed slow and calm, and Reid remembered she'd worked in an emergency room, for a while. "It's already over. It wasn't us. Drink your coffee, and I'll tell you what happened. Everyone we know is okay. There were three deaths, but they're not our people. I think they're all Bedlam's boys. Dick's not cursing or crying, so I know it's no one we know."  
  
"Where did they go, if they're not here?" Reid's eyes widened. "Todd. They'd have gone after Sol Todd."  
  
"Actually, they went after your mother."  
  
The coffee slipped out of Reid's hand as he threw himself off the bed, reaching for the door, but Mary's grip brought him up short. He twisted his arm around hers and flexed, breaking her grip, and then stopped, one hand on the door. "My phone. Where is my phone?"  
  
Mary glanced around the room and pointed to the dresser beside the door. "I think that's the edge of it. I don't know if you're going to be able to get through, yet. I'd tell you to ask Dick, but I'm not sure that's going to do any good, right now."  
  
Reid stared at it. That was his phone, but why was it here? He was sure this wasn't where he'd left it. Langly had probably moved it for some reason, when he got up. he took the phone and opened the door. "The worst that will happen is I won't get through, and I'll call again, later."  
  
"The worst that will happen," Langly announced from the other side of the living room, "is they'll get into your phone like Narcisse did, and they'll hear everything you tell Prentiss."  
  
Hafidha's eyes cleared, for a moment. "I'm not sure that's a bad thing. We can use that."  
  
"I want that damn phone in a faraday bag," Langly shot back, making an argument he'd made a hundred times before, and one Reid didn't entirely disagree with. "Video, audio, and it leaks like a sieve."  
  
"I don't really care. I'm calling my mother."  
  
"You can't get through," Langly said, as calmly as he could manage.  
  
"Then _put_ me through," Reid demanded.  
  
"No, it's not me; your mother doesn't have a phone in her room, and that's where she is." Langly set his laptop on the arm of the couch and held out a hand to Reid. "C'mere. It's all cleanup, now. It's over. But, they're not going to let her out of her room until the cops have cleared out. You know that."  
  
Reid finally stopped arguing, knowing Langly was right -- in the event anything went wrong, the residents would be locked in their suites, until the problem was resolved. He knew that. And he knew that was especially the case for his mother, both because of the dementia and because of his job. He'd explained about the package in Las Vegas, when he'd moved her here, and the staff had been very good about checking anything sent to her and notifying him when anything was received. Which really told him the only packages she'd been getting were ones he'd sent, and he was really okay with that. Of course, that might change, if she continued to improve, but he knew better than to hope.  
  
He grabbed a chair from the dining room and made to sit on it as he got to the end of the coffee table, but Langly tugged at his arm until he ended up perched across Langly's lap. "What happened?"  
  
"Two men showed up claiming to be former students of your mother's. And because she's got a restricted visitors list -- it's just you and your aunt, and you're the only one who ever shows up -- they called you. Twice. I didn't wake you up, because at first I figured they were just calling about something you sent your mom, because that's usually it." Langly patted Reid's leg like he was trying to calm _himself_. "We'd been following Bedlam's boys in, and I couldn't figure out where the hell they were going. They sent an arrival signal and said they were starting on the security system, but there wasn't anybody here. We were going nuts about it, and then they slammed into the watch I've got on your mom, and I figured out what was going on, which was right about the time the second call came in. So, I..." he cleared his throat. "I, ah... answered it. And I told the nice lady at the desk that she couldn't let those guys anywhere near your mom or anyone else, and that if she'd put them in a room by themselves, I'd get the cops. Not that I wanted to get the cops, but sometimes you get into something and you really wind up scraping the bottom of the barrel. I don't know anybody in Boston, any more. Sure as hell not anybody I'd ask to step in front of Kim of Bedlam."  
  
"Why the _hell_ did she listen to _you_? I moved my mother to Boston to have her closer, but also for the better sec--"  
  
"She didn't know I wasn't you. I answered your phone, and I know the answers to all your security questions." Langly held his hands up as Reid turned on him, eyes blazing. "Listen, I just saved your mother's life, okay? It was an emergency. I had to pretend to be you, the patient's proxy and a god damn FBI agent, so I could make sure nobody got _hurt_."  
  
It was almost more than Reid could take in, and he could feel his fingers and his lips getting distant, almost as if they belonged to someone else. "No," he said, trying to fend off the dizziness, "you did the right thing. I wish you'd woken me sooner, but you did the right thing. And it _shouldn't have worked_ , so I need to do something about that."  
  
"Maybe visit your mom more often," Hafidha offered, in a loud whisper. "No, really, you've got a better chance of someone who remembers your voice."  
  
"And how often do you visit your mother?" Reid snapped, realising he couldn't feel his hands any more. He had no doubt they were there. He was sure he could use them; he just couldn't feel them. He also couldn't remember if Hafidha's parents were still alive, all of a sudden.  
  
"Twice a year, but _my_ parents live in Hawaii, and the airfare is hell." Hafidha shook her head, the glittering ribbons in her hair bouncing distractingly. "You want to know how they got that far."  
  
"What are you turning into Chaz, now?" Langly scoffed, shifting into a more comfortable position with Reid in his lap.  
  
"It's the obvious question. How did they get past us?" Hafidha pulls her legs up onto the couch, folding them under her. "And the answer is, they didn't. We never knew where they were. We only knew they started in Ohio, and we thought they were headed for DC."  
  
"Because we're here and so is Duke." Reid nodded, and it felt like his head might roll off.  
  
"Drink your fucking coffee, Spence." Mary leaned over his shoulder and pressed another cup into his hands. "You need it."  
  
As he drank, clinging to the cup with both hands, Hafidha and Langly explained.  
  
"We had the exchange node, not the devices," Langly started, as if Reid would understand any part of the sentence. "And by the time we got there, messages were only coming one way -- _from_ the field team, not to them."  
  
Hafidha picked up the thread. "So, we started trying to follow them home, except they actually are pretty good, and we're on the far end of the path from where those messages start, so we don't get them until they've travelled all the way to us, and by then, a majority of the path between the device and the node has already been destroyed. That's not something that happens normally or accidentally. That's someone cleaning up after themselves. We get about twelve hops, and then everything disappears, and it's not the same twelve each time. Sometimes we don't even get that far, but we're averaging about twelve."  
  
"Which means we've never been entirely sure where they were, but we could sort of guess based on roads and traffic patterns how far they could've gotten from Ohio in any given direction, thank you Google. Seriously. Omnipresent mass surveillance. Great for figuring out where not to try to get the bike through, though." Langly laughed nervously and held a little tighter to Reid's hip. "So, when they suddenly checked in as 'arrived', it didn't make sense, until, like I said, they showed up looking for your mom."  
  
"You're sure she's okay?" Reid reached out, even though he had to take one hand off the cup to do it, and tipped Langly's head so he could look him in the eyes. "You're absolutely sure my mother is safe?"  
  
"Reid, there's almost nowhere she could be in the entire building that doesn't have a camera. She's fine. I can see her. Latoya's with her, and they're boring as hell. Your mom's been writing, and Latoya's reading one of those big-ass books your mom keeps piled on the table. As far as they know, it's just a lockdown because one of the crazies got a little too crazy, but I think we have to tell Latoya. Probably not your mom. I mean, I don't know if she'd--"  
  
Reid nods. "No, you're right. She's better, but I don't think she's that much better. I don't need this feeding into the paranoia, when that comes back. She's difficult enough without real events to hook into."  
  
"So, like the quick thinking heroes of this story that we are, we told the receptionist to tell the guys that you'd okayed the visit, and you were happy that her students were willing to visit her, and then to have them wait in a room that could be sealed because she'd be, ahem, brought to them. For their own safety, of course." Hafidha provided a winning smile. "And then Ringo triggered the lockdown and I called the cops, identified myself as an FBI agent, and told them we had suspected murderers under guard, and would they please go pick them up for us."  
  
"So... who died?" Reid wasn't quite certain how he kept his voice steady or his hands raising the coffee to his mouth, but somehow these things continued to go on almost without him. "Mary told me three people were dead."  
  
"A guard and both of Bedlam's boys." Langly's voice was quiet, but bitter. "The guard went in to check on them just as the lockdown started. I don't have audio, just video. It looks like nobody told him what was going on, and he told them they weren't supposed to be in there. It all happened so fast, there wasn't _time_ to tell anyone. There's a quick fight, and then he's not moving any more. Bedlam's boys died in custody."  
  
"Same as they always do." Hafidha sighed. "But, we have more datapoints, now. I duplicated their phones while he was talking to the receptionist. It was easy, once I knew where to look for them. I just needed something to tell me what I was looking for. And I was right about the signal -- similar build, and on command it set off a loop that wiped the data, overwrote it, and then blew up the battery, which is a neat trick."  
  
Langly shrugged expressively. "Please. I build mine to do that. It's how I knew what it was."  
  
"You also build yours from spare parts. These were ninety percent _stock_."  
  
"Yeah, okay, that's fair." Langly tipped his head to the side, acknowledging the point. "Still, the exchange node finally phoned home, and I think we're looking at the gates of Bedlam. By this time tomorrow, I'll be pissing in his Cheerios."  
  
"It's going to take you that long?" Reid asked, surprised.  
  
"No, but I want to make sure I'm not making a mistake that we're going to pay for, later."


	16. Chapter 16

"That's terrible. I-- yes. I know. Ye-- Mom-- _Mom_! You're okay, right? ... What? Nothing, no! You just said there was some trouble, yesterday, and I wanted to make sure you-- Yes. No, I _hadn't_ heard that."  
  
Langly tipped his head at Reid, who continued to pace with his phone, on the other side of the room. "This is why I never called home."  
  
"Yeah, that's the quintessential mom phone call," Mary agreed, pushing Chaz over on the couch with one foot, so Hafidha could sit between them. "I thought his mom was nuts, though."  
  
"She _is_ nuts," Langly assured her. "But, I guess she's on the good drugs now? I don't really ask. If he wants me to know, he'll tell me. But, I know she's getting better, even if he says it's not going to last. The last time I saw her... well, the only time, she looked good and we had a pretty normal conversation. I guess it would've been more normal if Reid was like twenty, but it was definitely a mom conversation. She's smart, she's scary, and she's definitely _his_ mom."  
  
"They look a lot alike?" Hafidha asked, leaning across Chaz to steal the bowl of pretzels he'd been hogging.  
  
"Nah, but you know what he's like. You meet her, and you can see where he gets it."  
  
"Ye-- I will, Mom. No, we can't make it up this weekend, but I'm-- Will you let me finish a sentence? I'm going to try to come up for Easter, if I can get away. ... Yes, I will. ... Yes, we are. We're really doing okay. I think-- What? He's right here. ... Wha--? Yes. Fine. _Fine_! Hold on." Reid came back across the room and held out his phone to Langly. "She wants to talk to you, because she doesn't believe we're still together."  
  
Langly almost swallowed his lips trying not to laugh, but he took the phone, and braced himself for another conversation with Reid's mom. "It's, ah... good to hear from you, Professor Reid! ... Oh, he does, does he?" An amused look at Reid. "Well, he's not lying. ... Where are we?" A panicked glance around the room. "In a hotel. We're at one of those law enforcement conference things, ah, techniques in fighting organised crime, I think. I can't get into anything. I'm just here for moral support. ... ..." A look of absolute horror spread across Langly's face, and his voice stepped up a couple of octaves. "I'm just going to hand you back to Spencer, now. ... Easter. Yeah." He shoved the phone at Reid with a terribly awkward look.  
  
"What--?" Reid started to ask, but he could hear his mother still talking, so he put the phone to his ear, with a concerned glance at Langly. "... ... _Mom_! I am not-- Neither of us are answering that question. ... Yes, I do, much like one has a fire extinguisher. ... That is not a conversation I'm going to have with you. ... And that's three times as rude in French, and I'm still not answering questions about it. That's-- No, I'll call you when I'm sure about Easter. I promise. ... Yes. I will. ... Have I ever--? ... That was _once_. I was _ten_. I have to go to dinner. I'll call you next week. ... I love you, too."  
  
Mary sat at the end of the couch, sniggering into her hands, as Reid hung up. Chaz had one hand over his mouth, and his eyebrows threatened his hairline. Wide-eyed, Hafidha got up, offering Reid her seat. "I'm going to go get the gin. You need a drink, after that. I need a drink after listening to that."  
  
"Okay, but what did she actually ask you?" Mary finally asked.  
  
"It was rude, it was French, and I'm pretty sure she called me a hooker," Langly muttered.  
  
"She wanted to know if we're sleeping together." Reid looked a bit pale as he let Chaz pull him toward the couch. He considered whether to share the rest of that, but realised that Mary was the only one in the room who hadn't heard it, and that she'd hear it from someone, the minute he wasn't looking. "And to tell me that if he's not any good in bed, I should keep looking."  
  
Mary cleared her throat. "I'd be happy to tell her we all know how good he is, because we can _hear you_."  
  
"Absolutely not. I am maintaining the somewhat delusional precept that my personal life is personal, and my sex life is not up for discussion with anyone who isn't immediately involved in it." Reid gratefully accepted the glass Hafidha handed him. "Why did you bring gin?"  
  
"Because I emptied the hotel minibar into my bag when we left. Like hell was I going to spend two weeks in an apartment with all of you without a drink, and not even because I thought _I'd_ need one. Most of us do not do this kind of close for this long very well." Hafidha winked at Reid. "And I remembered that you drink gin."  
  
Langly blinked at Hafidha. "Byers is going to kill me."  
  
"Byers bought the building I live in, so I'm not sure he really has room to talk about unnecessary expenditures," Reid pointed out, wondering, not for the first time, if Byers really was responsible for that purchase, even if it was in his name.  
  
"Byers worries about the price of everything except his dry-cleaning." Langly rolled his eyes. "Anyway, before that happy family moment, I was talking about Bedlam's systems. The guy's got nodes everywhere. That's not just smart, that's money, if he's doing it in the suggested fashion, but something tells me he's probably not, because money leaves an even wider trail than data. Money like that has identities attached to it, and unless you plan on burning an identity every time a node gets compromised, you don't pay for that kind of spread, you just take it and cover your tracks. If you hit datacentres with a lot of corporate clients, and you're running something with low overhead, you can disguise your shit pretty easily for a few months. So, I'm thinking I might just make his nodes start announcing themselves. Just flood the logs with every informational message the software can produce, and if it doesn't have messages, give it some. It's not going to take them offline, by itself, but it's going to dump a whole lot of information about every team he has in the field. And when people start talking about finding these logs and the processes behind them, things are going to get ugly faster than he can clean them up."  
  
"We can still get into some of the core systems, too," Hafidha pointed out. "And once we're in, I can probably jump to the rest of them."  
  
"And if you can't, I can, as long as they're in the same building." Langly nodded.  
  
"What do you want to do with those?"  
  
"Nuke the system, but not the data, and then I'll knock out the power. The nodes will go nuts when they can't phone home any more. It'll become an issue within the hour, and they're not going to be able to nuke the nodes, if the core systems don't boot any more." Langly grinned. "Barabbas wants an unrecoverable mistake? We'll give him one. Purge and burn."  
  
"And because we're taking out the system, but not the data, that's still waiting when Prentiss calls in the Canadians." Hafidha held out her hand for a high-five, and Langly delivered.  
  
"Okay, that takes care of the assassins, but that doesn't really put us any closer to the Society, does it?" Chaz looked from Hafidha to Langly. "You'd have to find that, without getting caught, before you take the systems down. There has to be some kind of accounts information, somewhere. They have to be keeping track of whether they've been paid."  
  
"That's not going to help with who." Reid took a long swig of gin, and three seconds to swallow it. "We're talking about an extremely skilled criminal organisation, and I can almost guarantee that even if we can link a record of payment to a particular project, we're going to run into serious issues tracing that payment back to its originator. We're talking about a group that gets hired by foreign governments, and possibly _our_ government. It's going to take years to get through the layers of obfuscation involved."  
  
Langly scoffed. "Only if you do it legally."  
  
Hafidha cleared her throat loudly. "He didn't say that. He's right, but he didn't say that."  
  
Reid caught Chaz's eye. "At what point?"  
  
Chaz shook his head. "They're trying to murder us, and not in the abstract way that term tends to be used in politics. These people hired assassins, and a woman came here to kill us. When that failed, they tried to kill your mother. It's self-defence."  
  
"Self-defence is shooting someone who's trying to kill you, in the moment. It's not breaking into a computer halfway across the continent and hacking into banks until you figure out where a wire transfer came from," Reid argued. "There are appropriate ways to do this, ways that will stand up in court."  
  
"And they'll take years," Langly reminded him. "And I don't know if I can keep us alive that long."  
  
Reid blinked, taking that in. After a moment's consideration, he finished his gin, set down the glass, and reached across Chaz to put a hand on Langly's knee. "I'm sorry. You're right. Sometimes things have to be done a certain way, and it's not a way that's generally advisable, but if 'generally advisable' were applicable, it wouldn't be an emergency, which I think we can all agree this is. And I feel like a hypocrite saying it. Why are _we_ more important than any other victims?"  
  
"We're not." Mary elbowed him. "But, you wouldn't fault a private citizen for protecting themselves like this, would you? It's not about what the FBI is going to do, what you're _allowed_ to do, it's about what _Dick's_ going to do to protect himself and his family. That's you and me, in case you were wondering."  
  
"Also, financial records on this scale are really rarely involved in stopping a murder that hasn't happened," Hafidha pointed out, producing another shot bottle of gin from a pocket and dumping it into the empty glass. "If you're dealing with international wire transfers and a murder, you're usually cleaning up _after_ it. It's a little different when you're cleaning up _before_ it. Besides, if we can find the information we're looking for, that means it exists, and other people can request it through the proper channels. This is just a preliminary investigation, designed to _keep us alive_ , long enough for the real investigation to catch up."  
  
"Reid?" Langly waited until he looked up. "You stabbed yourself in the leg. This is absolutely that kind of problem."  
  
"I know you're right, but you know why I have to question it." Reid turned his hand up, and Langly's fingers wrapped around it before he'd stopped moving. "You know why I have to question _myself_."  
  
"This is why the Anomaly has such a hard time with him, isn't it?" Hafidha asked Chaz.  
  
"Nah, this is the crack. If he were going to go, it'd be just like this."  
  
Reid looked up from where he was leaning across Chaz. "Sitting right here, you know."  
  
Chaz grinned, making no move to touch Reid, who remained sprawled across his lap. "I know. I'd never talk shit about you if you weren't."  
  
"...Thanks, I think."  
  
Hafidha's phone rang, from where it was plugged in, in the kitchen, and she answered it without moving. "Duke! Nobody's trying to kill you, yet, I assume? ... Hang on, putting you on speaker."  
  
Mary looked curiously at her. "Your phone's in the--"  
  
"How many of you am I talking to?" Duke's voice sounded tinny from the laptop speakers.  
  
"All of us," Mary said, and then looked contemplative. "Wait, I don't think I've met you."  
  
"Duke, that's Dr Mary Langly, the second alpha from the Lincoln cluster." Chaz took over the introduction, figuring both that somebody should, and that he might as well make clear that he was one of the 'all of us'. "Mary, that's Sol Todd, the guy who did the interviews about the clinic, right before it shut down."  
  
"He's a lot more than that," Langly protested, then shot a guilty look at his cousin.  
  
"Thanks, _Dick_." Mary rolled her eyes.  
  
"That's Mr Dickhead to you," Langly huffed, as they both stared at each other in horror, hoping the relatively smooth bickering would take the capital letter out of his name.  
  
"I'm here, too," Reid volunteered, sitting up and retrieving the second glass of gin from the table.  
  
"Well, unfortunately for you, I'm not calling about the case. I'm calling because this fuzzy little asshole just pulled the lettuce off my burger and ate it, and I want to know how concerned I need to be." Duke sounded like he'd turned his face away from the phone. "Yes, you. You're a kitty. Kitties are supposed to eat _burgers_ , not lettuce."  
  
Chaz laughed. "Put your shoes in the closet. he's probably just going to throw it up, later. Cats do that, sometimes."  
  
"He keeps banging his head on the glass, trying to pounce on Pleco, too. Your cat is very confused."  
  
"Of course he's confused, Duke." Hafidha sat down on the edge of the coffee table. "He had nice warm house full of carpets and sunlight, and now he's camped out in your bunker. I mean, the place suits you, but Schmengy Paws doesn't know what's going on. He's just a kitten. Is he eating anything else he shouldn't be? How's your toilet paper?"  
  
"I gave up and gave him his own roll. He's pretty happy to just chase it across the floor, but I have to keep the bathroom door closed. When are you two coming home?"  
  
"Soon," Chaz promised. "But, they're probably coming for you, next, and I have to assume they've already tapped your phone. You're one of the last people alive who knows anything about the Lincoln cluster. But, we'll be ready for them, this time."  
  
"Ready like you were for the murder midget? Heard you had another taser accident."  
  
"I feel like calling it an accident really misses the part where it wasn't _my_ taser, and I was a little busy trying not to get stabbed. And yes, I'm fine, thanks for asking."  
  
"Of course you're fine, Villette. I know what it takes to put you down."  
  
"No, you don't, Sol. You _really_ don't."  
  
"And you're making my point, which is good, because someone should. Everyone else is still talking, which I'm going to take as a good sign, and you're going to come save me from the international ninja assassins, which is even better, because as much as I like a good John Wayne moment, these guys do sound a little more serious than I want to deal with by myself." Todd paused, but the silence was full of something unsaid. "They're not anomalous, are they?"  
  
"Not that we've been able to tell," Chaz said with a glance at Hafidha, who finished that thought.  
  
"If they are, they're not using it. I haven't picked up anything that couldn't be achieved by more normal means. So, some of them might be, but if there's anything there, it's a matter of equipment. Don't underestimate what they might be carrying, just because you can't see it."  
  
"So, we're blind."  
  
"We're blind," Hafidha agreed, with a wink at Langly. "We haven't been able to take any of them alive, but that's always the problem. I think we'll get luckier with you. I have a very good feeling about that."  
  
"I hope you're right. Not that I'm too worried about me. I'm pretty good at not being dead, at my age, but I think Mr Paws, here, would like to go home, some time this month."  
  
"We're pretty sure he can have his cat food and eat it, too." Langly eyed the level of the gin in Reid's glass. "We'll get the bastards, this time, and then you and your fish can stop kitty-sitting."  
  
"But, the real question is, if you're going to race to the rescue of myself and the adventurous Mr Paws, will you dress up like Marilyn Monroe, again, to do it?"  
  
Mary blinked. " _Again?_ "  
  
Langly's eyes widened and his spine straightened, the next sentence reduced to half a breath. He cleared his throat and folded his arms. "Whoops, dropped the connection."  
  
Chaz leaned back to catch Mary's attention behind Reid. "He's got great legs."  
  
Mary squinted at Langly. "We're clones, and nobody ever says that about _my_ legs..."  
  
"Nobody's ever _seen_ your legs," Langly shot back. "Anyway, enough about legs, I have to go save a kitten from international ninja assassins." He looked up at Hafidha. "Are we gonna do this?"  
  
Hafidha stretched her arms and cracked her knuckles. "Purge and burn."


	17. Chapter 17

Four hours in, things were still going smoothly. Chaz was busy in the kitchen, Mary was serving food, and Reid watched the building's security feeds on Langly's laptop, while Langly and Hafidha worked their way through Kim of Bedlam's systems. It was slow work, destroying the bootability of every machine in the network (and the two other networks they'd discovered, as they worked their way in deeper) without getting caught or stalling the system. There were safeguards in place to prevent someone from doing exactly this.  
  
But, it was working. The two of them, together, were able to convince the machines that nothing worth mentioning was happening, so they'd managed to remain wholly unrecorded, entirely unnoticed. Langly was absolutely sure that Kim of Bedlam would know how to fix what they were doing, but between figuring out what happened and getting the parts in to repair it, enough time should've passed for them to lead a much more legally appropriate sally straight back to Bedlam. It might not have been quite what Barrabas had in mind, but Kim was going down.  
  
Chaz was pulling another casserole out of the oven, and Mary stood by with a spatula and disposable tupperware, when Langly's phone rang, and Chaz nearly dropped the pan. Two out of three people who had that number were in the apartment, and Langly had cut contact with everyone at home, when they'd moved in, hoping to keep them safe. So, why-- No, Muringa was forwarding calls to that number. Right. He knew that.  
  
But, it wasn't a forwarded call.  
  
"Little busy, Frohike. Why are you calling me?" Langly overwrote the boot loader on another machine with obscene ASCII art.  
  
"The network just got noisy. We just took down two machines, because we're not sure if they got compromised, but if they did, nobody got anything back _out_."  
  
Langly's chin tipped up, and he picked up the pace. File after file fell under the onslaught. "Unplug the external from the wall. Full lockdown, manual only on the doors. We built that place to survive this, but you have to cut them off _now_."  
  
"You're on the wrong side of the door, Langly."  
  
"I'm on the right side of the door, and I'm about to save your ass. Unplug the external, and get Byers to clean shit out, before it spreads on the internal." Langly took a breath. "It's Kim of Bedlam. Lock me out, and don't be surprised if you see Villette before you see _me_. This fucker's going down. The next time you talk to me, I'll be standing at the door."  
  
"I hope you know what the hell you're doing."  
  
"Hang up the god damn phone, Frohike. It's using the external router."  
  
The line went dead without another word, and the number reported as no longer in service, when he tried to call it back. There was no way into that building. They'd made sure of it. Still, this was going to be a great opportunity to make mincemeat of Kim's people, if they'd tracked down the bunker. Which was kind of a big if, and this might just be a shot to separate them, but...  
  
"Hey, Villette! How much food?"  
  
Chaz didn't even step out of the kitchen to answer. "At the rate you're going through it, probably not enough, if your times are right!"  
  
"I don't eat as much as you," Langly reminded him.  
  
"No, you don't, and neither does Hafs, but you've probably got two more meals, here, between the two of you, as of right now. Bread's rising, stew probably wants another hour, but the stew's not for you, it's for Spencer and Mary. You can't afford to be eating stew right now." Chaz stopped cutting onions and leaned around the wall. "You really don't have anything to worry about, except maybe the apartment turning into a sweatbox. I'm still cooking."  
  
"No, you're not." Langly closed his eyes and replaced several drivers with empty files of the same names. "I need you to go check on Frohike and Byers, and it has to be you." He finally turned to look at Chaz. "And you know why. I couldn't get you to Boston fast enough, but Bedlam just came after _our_ system. And if this goes down the way things have been, they're looking for a way in."  
  
"Can they get in?" Chaz asked, running through what he remembered of the layout and security from the few times he'd been there.  
  
"Sure, with a tank, a cutting torch, and about nine hours to blow." Langly smiled grimly. "But, they don't know that. All they've seen is the electronic locks, and those are now offline, along with all the external network interfaces. It's going to take them a few minutes to figure out there's no way in, and _you're_ the only one who can take these asshats alive."  
  
"You _hope_ I can take them alive." Chaz sighed and untied his apron. "You've seen me work. You know I can't promise that. And Spencer's coming with me, just in case."  
  
"Need him here," Langly argued, trying to figure out how to disable the emergency generators without tripping the warnings -- the systems were still up, after all.  
  
"It's not up to you. I can't call Duke to back me up, right now, for obvious reasons, and I'm not doing this without backup. Crazy, yes. But, not stupid." Chaz glanced at where Reid still sat at the table, eyes darting between the video feeds, and realised he hadn't said a word. "Spencer? We've got to go be heroes."  
  
"There aren't enough hands and there aren't enough eyes," Reid argued, eyes still tracing the same pattern, as he stood, picking up the laptop. "How far will this work?"  
  
"Shit," Langly swore. "Rabbit? VPN? My hands are full."  
  
"Take it where you need to," Hafidha said, rubbing the side of her head. "I can't watch them, but I can make sure you don't lose them. Call me, if you see some-- No, you know what? Call Mary, not me."  
  
"You guys know my cooking is basically 'what can I microwave', right?" Mary looked around the room, as she brought out slabs of half-refrigerated enchilada casserole. Once the cheese set, it wasn't as hard to eat it without dripping more of it than went in one's mouth.  
  
"In an hour, put the stew on low," Chaz told her, darting into the kitchen to write on the fridge in dry-erase marker. "The bread's just waiting to bake, and I'm leaving instructions in here. You can't screw it up, unless you're trying. There's another recipe, too, and they're going to hate me, but they'll survive."  
  
"Oh, god," Langly sighed loudly. "Is it panic bags time again?"  
  
"Sorry, but if you want me out by the airport in half an hour, at this time of day, that's what you're stuck with." Chaz came back from the kitchen and pulled on his jacket. "And I'm taking your bike."  
  
"Please don't smear my boyfriend across an intersection."  
  
"I'm good at this, remember? I'll get us there and back again without a scratch." Chaz fished the keys out of Langly's jacket pocket and waved Reid out the door in front of him. "Kick ass. Take names. We'll be back."

* * *

'Good at this' was subjective, Reid decided, as he tried to figure out if the display across the inside of the helmet visor was making him carsick -- motorcycle-sick? -- or if that was just clinging to Chaz's back around too many corners, much too fast. He was sure they were breaking speed limits. He could hear the difference in the sound the engine made. But, with the laptop wired to the screen he'd never had a use for, before, he could keep his eyes on the security feeds, and hopefully keep his mind off the fact that he was almost certain Chaz was going to lay the bike down if he took another corner like that last one. The adrenaline was more than he could handle, and he was fairly sure that would drop off any time now, leaving him to drift in that hyperfunctional haze, where the whole world seemed to slow to a crawl, around him. The nausea, though, was going to kill him. Possibly literally, if he threw up while they were in motion.  
  
But, Langly had designed this rig for almost exactly this use, and it was the first time Reid had found a use for any part of it, besides the voice-activated link to his phone. It kept him from having to admit he shouldn't have been reachable, when he didn't have a good excuse to avoid taking calls from work. 'Sorry, I was on the back of my boyfriend's motorcycle on the way to that Indian place Morgan likes' wasn't the kind of thing he actually wanted to admit to. And 'Sorry, I was on the back of my boyfriend's motorcycle, without my boyfriend, on my way to do something moderately illegal and completely anomalous involving an ACTF agent and several Canadian assassins' was right out.  
  
Still, having a use for it didn't mean he'd ever use it again. Chaz changed lanes in a way that sounded like it had irritated every one else on the road for about a mile around them, and Reid felt his intestines trying to crawl into his throat again. This was ridiculous. He never got carsick. On the other hand, he'd also never tried to watch two dozen video feeds, simultaneously, on the back of a motorcycle that was probably doing sixty-five in a thirty. He wasn't even sure where they were, not least because he couldn't see anything outside the helmet. But, Langly had designed it that way, _for him_. The idea was that he'd be able to catch up on case files and his email -- most of which he ignored anyway -- on the way to the airport, if Langly was dropping him off. But, that hadn't happened, yet, so they'd never put it to the test. Most of the time, he was driving, though Langly occasionally dropped him at work, and when he was riding with Langly, he wore the inner visor flipped up, because he had no use for it. He wasn't sure he'd ever develop Langly's taste for integrating electronics into nearly every aspect of daily life, though Langly did seem to be able to enhance the moment with his choices, rather than disrupt it or avoid it entirely, and he wondered if that was because Langly didn't need to look away from what was happening to have complete control of the devices and the flow of information in his vicinity.  
  
A chime sounded in his ear, bringing the nausea back to the forefront. "Marvin, accept link."  
  
Chaz's voice came back to him with perfect clarity. "We're almost there. I'm going to leave you near the gate with the bike, and walk the rest of the way in, because they might see you, but they won't see me."  
  
"Park by twenty-seven," Reid suggested. "Muringa's watching it, so we have another set of eyes. It's also closer, and makes it look like we have somewhere else to be."  
  
He'd barely finished the sentence when they slowed down suddenly. A few more turns, and they coasted to a stop. And that meant the gate guard had probably recognised Langly's bike and let them through, because he hadn't felt Chaz push. Just the same, he'd talk to Langly about it, later. That was dangerous, and it shouldn't have worked.

* * *

Langly had said there was no way to contact anyone inside the building, besides walking up and ringing the bell, and Chaz didn't want to give himself away, yet. Not until he could figure out where everyone was. Of course, he was going to have a hell of a time doing that, without the help of Byers and the cameras -- there was at least one underground entrance that he could remember passing. Three entrances, he thought, the front, the underground one, and the loading dock, and only two of them he could get to by circling the building. But, he did it anyway. For the first time, he wondered if he still showed up on thermal imaging cameras. It had been another lifetime, the last time he'd had to worry about that, but he felt like it was probably important, for a change. The difference, as Langly had put it, between FBI work and CIA work, and he was pretty sure he was firmly on the wrong side of that line, here, but it had started with a crime committed by Americans on American soil, so it was his case, even if they had hired Canadian assassins.  
  
There was no sign of anyone on the outside of the building. He turned around and circled back, and still couldn't find anyone, or any traces anyone had gotten that close to the building. If they were watching, it wasn't from close by.

* * *

"I've got everything we want," Hafidha said, around a mouthful of chicken and cheese. "I'm ready when you are."  
  
"Disabled the alerts and wrecked the generators, discharged the UPS batteries, and did just enough damage to the drives that dropping in a new boot drive isn't going to be enough. Recovery should still restore most, if not all, the data, but even replacing the drives isn't going to be quick. Not when they realise they've got no power. And no power means it's going to be a bitch to pulse the drives, if they decide to nuke everything and run." Langly smiled, a wicked curve that curled the corners of his mouth. "And power out in three... two... one."

* * *

Reid sat on the wrong side of the steps to twenty-seven, half-perched on the motorcycle, with the laptop balanced on one leg and his back close enough to the wall that no one could get behind him. Every direction he had to worry about, he could see around the edges of the screen. He called the main number and identified himself to Muringa, asked how she was enjoying the beach, and asked her to keep an eye on the cameras for twenty-seven, because he was sitting there, waiting for either his partner or a killer, and he wasn't sure which one would arrive first.  
  
"You know twenty-seven's been empty for months, now? Ain't got those ... _people_ moving the cameras all the time. So, you can wait inside if you want to, and you got keys. You got keys, don't you?"  
  
Reid's brain stalled on one word. "Empty?"  
  
"Sure, we finally got those fools out, with their setting off the alarms every time a stray cat come by. No new fools, yet, because I don't like the looks of most of the offers, and Johnny doesn't like the rest."  
  
"Muringa, do you have access to the recordings from the last week around twenty-seven? Most importantly, can you find out whose _car_ is parked around the corner from me?" Reid started to put the pieces together in ways he wasn't quite sure they fit. "Call me when you have them, and I'll tell you where to send the video -- just that part of it. Have you ever heard Frank mention the Black Queen? She's an old friend, and nothing ... untoward is going to happen to the video if you send it to her."  
  
"Why don't I just send it to Johnny?"  
  
"Because you can't. They've gone into lockdown. I'm outside trying to find the problem."  
  
"You said you were looking for a killer."  
  
"I am looking for a very small, very technologically competent team of killers, and right now, I'm trying to figure out if they're in the building behind me." Twenty-seven had access to twenty-seven's video, Reid realised, after a moment, and he was standing directly under one of the cameras, counting on Muringa to look out for him. "I have to make another call. Call me back when you find the people who came in that car."

* * *

The thing Chaz suddenly understood was that the car that had been parked by twenty-seven, when they'd arrived, wasn't supposed to be there. He could see the car -- tan and boxy, probably almost as old as his own car -- and he could feel Reid's uneasiness, as if it had been amplified just for him. Reid was unsubtly suggesting that they'd parked directly in front of the people they'd been looking for. And that was when he let the connection between them widen as far as Reid would allow. The concern, now, wasn't whether whatever he had to do would result in irreparable psychological damage to Reid, but that a lack of clarity between them would result in one or both of them getting killed.  
  
For the first time, he seriously considered calling for backup, and then decided he didn't need to put anyone else at risk. Langly and Hafidha were supposed to be incapacitating Bedlam, but anyone who got involved, at this point would be in danger, until they'd managed to find the Society and stop another group from being hired. And yes, to some extent, that was the job, but the job, he'd noticed, very rarely followed them home quite like _this_. Duke. He could call Duke, because Duke was already involved, already in danger, but Duke was also looking after Hafs's _cat_. He hated the idea of leaving Schmengy Paws unprotected in the home of another target.  
  
No, they were on their own, and they'd handle this. _He'd_ handle this.  
  
Chaz popped the battery out of his phone, remembering that Langly had been able to see it, if not the rest of him, and ran back toward twenty-seven, wishing he had a better idea of how secure the warehouses Langly didn't live in were.


	18. Chapter 18

The longer Lisa Ortiz spent looking at the message, the more interesting it got. As far as she'd heard, White Rabbit worked for the BAU, now, but that was just a rumour that had come up during her ... difficulties, the year before. Narcisse, of all people! Though, looking back, that was a little less surprising. And now Narcisse was dead, and she had an email that claimed to be from White Rabbit, and it looked like it had come in from _Canada_. Not her jurisdiction _or_ Rabbit's.  
  
Which meant, of course, that she was going to open the message. Carefully. After downloading it onto another device that wouldn't be connected to the network. She wouldn't put it past someone from the old days to be pretending to be White Rabbit. She also wouldn't put it past Rabbit to have heard about where she'd ended up, last year, and decided that this Canadian problem needed ... But, if Rabbit was FBI, why hadn't the request come through official channels?  
  
She picked up the phone to call the Black Queen.  
  
"Garcia, hey girl, do you know anything about an email from White Rabbit? Because I've got--"  
  
"Oh! Yes! Yes, it's real. Yes, she's a fed, now. And, yes, you want to open that and probably forward it to anyone you might know in places better equipped to handle internationally wanted thieves and assassins. She probably sent it to you, because she knows you're actually in Computer Crimes, and you'd know who to send it to. I got a copy, too, but I'm not on great terms with the CIA right now."  
  
Ortiz finally opened the message and read the note at the top. "Bedlam? She found Bedlam!? The old man must be getting sloppy. Nobody's ever found Bedlam."  
  
Garcia didn't say anything for a long moment. "What do you know about the group?"  
  
"Not much. No one does. Kim runs a tighter ship than I did, but I've heard he's not the first man at the top. There used to be someone else, and rumours have it that Kim killed him and took over, but that's the kind of ridiculous stuff you used to hear at the Disco. Not a lot of people got _killed_ in our line of work. Still, that was around when I was starting to get big. Mid-eighties? Late eighties? I'm trying to remember the guy he was supposed to have replaced. He was a name, for a while, and then he dropped off the wires. Never heard from him again, but he was before my time, even. Spidereater, maybe? One of the Spiders, I'm pretty sure."  
  
"Oh, ew, I hope it wasn't SpiderKiss."  
  
Ortiz laughed. "I think SpiderKiss was too young. Not much older than you. You had a problem with him for a while, didn't you?"  
  
"How did you not? He hit on everything remotely female and he never stopped!"  
  
"I wasn't around as much as you were, and everybody knew my name. Some part of his tiny insect mind probably registered that was a bad combination."  
  
"Oop, gotta go! That's my people calling!"  
  
Garcia disconnected, and Ortiz was left staring at the message from White Rabbit. She recognised some of the locations mentioned and the damage done, which added a whole lot of credibility to what she was seeing. And Garcia confirmed that White Rabbit was government, at least, if not necessarily FBI, which added more weight to it. But, why had it come in _like this_? She double-checked the headers and realised the received lines couldn't possibly be correct. The message had passed directly from a Canadian server to the department mailserver, bypassing all the usual intermediaries. But, then, it was White Rabbit, and it was twenty years later. After the things she and Ringo had done, long ago if not so far away, this wasn't impossible. Extremely difficult, but not impossible. The question was whether she was going to bother chasing Rabbit, or if she was just going to bring the message to the attention of some people who would actually have a use for it.

* * *

It was too easy to get into the warehouse. The locks were good, but Muringa had the keys, and looking at them had given Reid a much better idea of how to approach the locks, which opened slowly, but silently. Chaz still had concerns about the fact that Reid was on camera, but apparently Muringa and her sister were taking care of that problem. In all, it only took about ten minutes from the time he got back to Reid until he was opening the door.  
  
And that would let the light in. There was no way to hide that the door was opening, even if he remained unseen. But, as he stood just to the side of the door, taking in the profound darkness around him, there was no response from anywhere inside the building. Nothing creaked. Nothing clicked, clanked, or swooshed. Had they been here and then left? Chaz had no idea, because he couldn't see a damned thing. No-one could see him, either, but they'd be able to hear him, if he went stumbling about in the dark. This wasn't how this was meant to go at all. Still, he was getting the impression there wasn't anyone else here.  
  
Reid turned his eyes away from the security feeds for several long seconds, and Chaz got a clear view of the blueprints, including where the light switches were. And he hoped Reid hadn't missed something critical in those seconds. Still, the lights weren't a great idea. If anyone was here... no, he was bending that spectrum. At least he thought he was. Hoped he was. Of course, if he wasn't, he'd have been shot, by now. ... Assuming there was anyone to do the shooting.  
  
He was starting to hate the dark as much as Reid did.  
  
Chaz paused to take stock of the situation. Someone, most likely Kim of Bedlam, had taken a run at Langly's systems. Yes, they were also Byers's systems, but he didn't think anyone was that interested in Byers. Not like that, anyway. And Frohike's specialities, as he understood them, which he really didn't, lay primarily, if not entirely, elsewhere. But, those systems were housed in this warehouse park, where there was a car parked outside a warehouse that shouldn't have been occupied. The car didn't appear to belong to any of the legitimate occupants of the park, according to Muringa, who would know. The car wasn't occupied, which meant whoever had arrived in it was somewhere else, most likely inside the warehouse park, and very most likely inside the warehouse they'd parked next to. Which was where he was. In the dark. Hearing no-one. Of course, since he'd come in the door, he, too, had been nearly soundless, so it was fair to say the lack of sound didn't indicate the lack of another person, but short of revealing his own location, at least for as long as it took to switch on the lights -- there was only one place he could be, for each set of them, even if no-one could see him standing there -- there were a limited number of ways to determine if anyone else was present. More limited in that there were only so many things he could do _at once_.  
  
But, that was it, wasn't it? He was in the dark. He knew about what the detectable infrared band looked like. He didn't have to worry about casting shadows or reflections, he just had to not seem to give off visible heat. Which might give him back enough to try something he really didn't want to do, but Hafidha was right. If they were going to take this team alive, he was going to have to convince them to surrender. Or, failing that, to scare the shit out of them until they forgot which end was up, though he suspected he might need the lights on for that, because whatever else he might do, he didn't glow in the dark.  
  
He warned Reid and drew the curtain across the mirror he'd come to love, before he raised the other and turned it out into the dark, looking for a flicker of memory, of concentration, of desire. And there it was. Just one mind, not at all focused on him or on the door or on... anything he recognised. And after a moment, he realised it was someone sleeping. And sleeping people don't generally identify themselves, he knew, so that was a pain in the ass. But, he did have the advantage. _They_ had the advantage, if he played this right.  
  
He checked again. Only one mind, besides his own, and clearly sleeping. He let go of the last of the light and reached out to Reid.

* * *

"You're sure the power's not going to come back on as soon as you let go?" Hafidha asked, yawning and stretching, as she took the video feeds back from Reid, who really needed his eyes.  
  
"I didn't just block it." A smug smile spread across Langly's face. "I worked up a surge and melted a few components outside of the block. Machines are still fine, but there's no way to get power into the building, unless they bring in a new generator, and even that's not going to help, if they can't figure out where to hook it up. I'm pretty sure I didn't get everything, but I'm also pretty sure I took out enough that it's going to be a real pain in the ass to get anything working, for a few days."  
  
"How did you not get everything? I thought you were--"  
  
"Listen, it's a convoluted system about half a continent away from us, and I'm the only one of us who does wires, and I've only been doing this for, uh, maybe six months? Oh, and somebody's trying to break into my house and kill my best friends. Yeah, okay, I might have missed a few connections, but good fucking luck to anyone trying to plug in something bigger than a blender even with a generator. What's left isn't going to handle it." He paused, squinting against the headache that crawled up the back of his skull. He flinched, and the lights in the room went out. "I could've done it, but I wasn't sure I could fry some of those lines and still protect the machines. The data's kind of essential to the next part of this plan. You did get it sent, right?"  
  
"Yeah. Copied Penny and Vanity on some of it. I think we just closed a few cases for Computer Crimes. I'm expecting Bedlam's boys are going to be up to their eyeballs in angry Canadians by tomorrow morning, if not sooner." Hafidha yawned again, still talking. "I'm hoping sooner, because if they know you came after them and did this kind of damage..."  
  
"I'm going to be up to my ass in assassins before the Canadians can even get a helicopter in?" Langly tried to put his foot on the coffee table and kicked a plate. "Yeah, thought of that. We still don't know who most of these people are, which isn't good, but I bet Villette brings us some new names and faces."  
  
"I just took the cameras back from Spencer. He needs to be able to see. I guess they found someone in warehouse twenty-seven and they're trying to sneak up on them. He just texted and gave me like two sentences, told me to make sure you actually ate something, and stopped answering. Chaz turned his phone off a while ago."  
  
Langly sputtered. "I eat!"  
  
"Murder spider."  
  
"Extenuating circumstances."

* * *

Chaz was ready for it, when the lights came on, and the difference was still blinding. But, at least he was awake. "FBI! Hands where I can see them!"  
  
Squinting, he could make out the shape of a pile of blankets and a guy with blond dreads. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he could see the terror he was already feeling.  
  
"I didn't do anything illegal!" the guy protested, trying to sit up.  
  
"Stay down. Who are you?" Chaz circled the bedroll so the guy could see him. That always made things easier.  
  
"I don't have to tell you that. I'm just sleeping here! You can't just come in here and start acting like I'm a criminal!"  
  
"Yeah, actually, I can. I'm here looking for a criminal, and the property owners tell me you don't belong here, because there's no lease on this building, so right now, you're pretty suspicious. I want to know who you are and how you got in here."  
  
And Chaz knew the answers as soon as the man started to answer him. He watched the truth and about half a dozen lies bubble up through the man's consciousness, and he knew which was which. This was the owner of the car, outside, and he really did think he had a legitimate right to be here.  
  
"I'm Joe. I know Marty, and he said I could stay here for a few days."  
  
"Marty?" Chaz let the confusion spread across his face.  
  
"The night guard," Reid said, having crossed the building to join them. "That's how you got past him."  
  
The guy nodded. "My girlfriend threw me out, and I was sleeping in my car, and I ran into Marty at the store, and when he asked me about Marlene, I told him what happened, and he said there was a warehouse that nobody was using so I could stay here for a few days, until I got somewhere else. So, I'm allowed to be here. Marty said I could stay."  
  
"Right now, this is the last place you _want_ to be," Reid said, quietly. "Also, you're trespassing, because Marty doesn't have the standing to make that offer, but that's not why we're here."  
  
"So, here's what you're going to do." Chaz loomed, his irritation more intimidating than anything else about him. "You're going to pick up everything that's yours and go lock yourself in the back office, for _your own safety_. And in a few hours, we're going to come back and escort you off the property. That means you walk away from this without so much as a citation, as long as you can follow the directions. Not following the directions means you're stepping into an armed conflict with some very nasty people who killed a man in Boston, yesterday, just because he was in the way."  
  
The guy swallowed hard and started pulling his small collection of belongings toward himself. "How do I know this is for real?"  
  
"You don't," Chaz said, and Reid handed him a business card.  
  
"You can always call the Bureau, but you're not going to get any information about open cases."

* * *

When Frohike opened the inner airlock door, he could safely say he hadn't been so happy to see a fed since Scully had gone back into medicine. "How's Langly?"  
  
"As far as I know, he's fine. I haven't spoken to him, since we left the apartment, but I have spoken to Hafidha, and she'd have told me if anything had happened to him." Reid stepped out of Chaz's way, and Frohike sealed the door behind them. "How are you and Byers holding up?"  
  
"He's upstairs, watching the cameras. He's also got some ideas about how these guys got to us."  
  
Frohike led the way through the industrial-looking front room that was larger, Chaz thought, than Reid's entire apartment. As they passed between the enormous bulwarks that gave way to raised platforms with built-in desks, Chaz started to figure out where in the building he was, having only ever come in from the other entrance, underground. Another narrow passage, and they crossed into a massive workroom, file cabinets lining huge swaths of the walls, large tables with half-assembled hardware occupying the bulk of the space.  
  
"So, turns out, it's probably not actually us." Frohike shrugged and took down a few coffee mugs, as they crossed into the kitchen. "We're occupying a few different non-adjacent IP addresses, and most of them are in the middle of blocks owned by major service providers. We don't really show up on paper, because nobody notices we're there. Every once in a while, somebody goes after the block around us, and they get us, too."  
  
Chaz accepted a cup of coffee and leaned against the kitchen island, recognising that this was more or less what Langly had said about Bedlam's nodes, and he wondered, for a moment, if Hafs had accidentally triggered this while they'd been going for Bedlam. "So, this was just a badly-timed attack on somebody else's systems, and you got caught in the middle of it, while Langly was busy with one of the most dangerous non-anomalous hackers in the known world. I still don't like it."  
  
"In about two more hours, it's not going to matter, because we're not going to be there, any more." Frohike handed another cup to Reid and then poured one for himself. "Once you tell me there's not assassins out there trying to override the electronic security, we're going to put one machine back on and start moving things around. We'll be invisibly somewhere else."  
  
"What we found outside is consistent with that assessment, though," Reid conceded.  
  
"You mean nothing." Frohike turned back toward the counter and started making sandwiches. He'd seen what happened when Langly didn't eat, since this whole 'gamma' thing started, and he didn't want to find out what kind of bitchy Villette was going to get.  
  
"No! We absolutely did find something -- someone -- you should be aware of, but he wasn't actually relevant to the attack on your systems." Reid watched the sandwiches come together, trying to figure out if that was chicken salad, and debating how much he'd regret eating it. He realised, suddenly, that he wasn't quite sure when the last time he'd eaten had been. "Your night guard, Marty, decided to let a friend sleep in twenty-seven. And that was not a good place to be, when we showed up."  
  
"He's locked in the office in twenty-seven," Chaz explained, trying to keep his eyes on Frohike, instead of the sandwiches, resulting in something on the order of a pathetically frozen stare. "We promised we'd escort him off the property, when we were done making sure there wasn't a killer on the loose."  
  
"Sit down and eat a sandwich, while Byers fixes the network." Frohike handed a plate piled with sandwiches to Chaz, and looked up at Reid. "You got any way to reach Langly, so we can make sure that's a good idea?"  
  
"Sort of. I can call his ... ah... the other Langly." Reid patted his pockets until he found his phone.  
  
"How many weeks were we right next to her, and I'm still not used to that." Frohike shook his head. "The _other_ Langly. One was enough. I like her, though. She's a lot less of an asshole."  
  
"She's really not," Chaz protested, taking the phone out of Reid's hand. "Call Hafidha, instead. The connection's more secure."  
  
"Right. Because Narcisse wasn't the worst thing out there."


	19. Chapter 19

Reid looked miserable, sitting on the couch between the two Langlys. The length of the day had darkened the eternal rings under his eyes, and he looked tired in a way Langly wasn't sure he'd ever seen. Exhausted. Defeated. Unwell.  
  
"Can we go home now?" he asked, hands in his lap, eyes unfocused. "I just want to sleep on my own couch, tonight."  
  
"One more day," Langly promised, affectionately draping an arm across Reid's slumped shoulders. "I just want to make sure we make it through the first round of fallout, and then we'll go home. And it'll be safe, and you can enjoy the complete lack of a cool breeze around the edges of the windows and the fact that you have a vibrating chair. And you look like you really need the chair."  
  
"I really need to go to Boston," Reid sighed.  
  
"You really need to eat something and take a nap," Mary decided. "We've all been sleeping like shit, and you didn't actually get any of the stew before you left."  
  
"The end of the case is the worst part," Chaz announced from where he lay on the floor right where the heat from the vent intersected the carpet, the warmest spot in the room. "Especially with something like this -- we've turned it over to another agency, and there's nothing to do but wait."  
  
"I dislike the sense that we've mishandled this, somehow," Reid said, making no move to get something to eat. "Technically, we've done what we could. We determined that Kim of Bedlam was operating out of Canada, and Canada is not even slightly our jurisdiction, so we shut down his operation in a way that leaves it vulnerable to the Canadian authorities, who we then contacted. We've done everything right. And yet, there are still assassins we haven't identified, who are probably still trying to kill us. And there really isn't anything else we can do, at this point, is there?"  
  
"Nope." Langly slid down on the sofa, sinking into a position he was sure he'd regret later. "The only thing left is to go through what we managed to copy and see if any of it helps. If we're lucky, we'll be able to find the Society. If we're really lucky, this isn't the only job they had open for the Society. I'm pretty sure there's not going to be any record of stuff that was finished. You don't hang on to that kind of shit, at least not anywhere that's got network access. I mean, sure, we kept things, but it was paper, and it wasn't anything incriminating, even if it could've gotten us killed for having it. You know the difference, right?"  
  
"You weren't holding on to evidence of your own crimes, but evidence of someone else's." Reid looked like he was held together with nothing but spit and memory, as if most of the life had run out of him, since he'd come back in the door. "So, Chaz is right. All we can do is wait."  
  
"Just another day or two. Barrabus swears the contract's going to be cancelled before morning. I guess he just passed our information on to his guy, and the guy's not real thrilled with how this was handled. Kim's getting the boot, and the other guy's going to fix things for us," Langly promised, rubbing Reid's back with one hand. "We're fine. We just have to keep our heads down until the dust clears."  
  
"Keep our heads down in the place we were trying to lure assassins to?" Mary reminded him. "We're not exactly hidden. That's the _point_."  
  
"It's still the point. They know where we are, but this is some of the best security I can give us, right now. They come for us here, and they're still walking into a trap."  
  
"He's right," Chaz declared, rolling over to warm his other side. "And if anything happens, _I'm_ going to handle it, this time."  
  
"You're going to have a sandwich, and then I'm going to get you a blanket," Mary retorted.  
  
Chaz shuddered. "No more sandwiches, _please_. Especially not for Spencer."  
  
"I never want to hear the words 'chicken salad' again," Reid muttered into his hands.  
  
"So, this isn't even case-ending angst, is it?" Mary looked back and forth between Reid and Chaz. "He's just trying not to blow chunks."  
  
Reid groaned into his hands. "Language."  
  
Langly kept rubbing Reid's back, as he glanced at his cousin across it. "Don't just sit there. Get the man a bucket."

* * *

By lunch, the next day, Reid had stopped looking ill every time someone mentioned food, and Hafidha had ordered enough pizza for a small army. They'd agreed that she and Chaz would go down to get the pizza, because nothing was getting past both of them, and really, a pizza delivery was just inviting trouble. But, they'd eaten almost everything left, yesterday, and not feeding the three gammas was not an option, however much Chaz insisted he could get by on eating like a 'normal person' for two days.  
  
"I've done worse to myself. It's not going to kill me," he'd said.  
  
"Two points, both of them obvious, but I'm going to make them anyway." Reid had held up a finger and given Chaz a look that could've frosted his coffee. "One, just because you can, that doesn't mean you should. And two, it's not going to kill you, but you've _seen_ what happens to Langly."  
  
So, they'd ordered the pizza after all, despite the slim possibility of it being delivered by assassins. After all, Chaz would see to that.  
  
"What's your mystery man have to say about Bedlam?" Hafidha asked, still watching for the approach of the pizza.  
  
"Nothing, yet. He's still trying to clean up after the mess we made. The Canadians got almost everything, before our newly-appointed leader could get there, which is probably better in the long run, but it's going to make some serious noise, internationally." Langly stopped staring at his phone. " _Our_ government hired them a few times. I didn't erase that. We could use some god damn accountability, around here."  
  
Hafidha tipped her head, a look of faint displeasure flattening her features. "There's a time and a place, Ringo."  
  
"Which is now, because I'm holding the evidence, and the CIA's less dangerous than Kim of Bedlam on their best days."  
  
"Your boyfriend would like to keep his job," Hafidha reminded him, and Langly slowly sat up straighter, shoulders squaring, chin tipped up.  
  
"My boyfriend is the victim of an international conspiracy that just tried to have him killed, and he can't be held responsible for the actions of certain renegade hackers who were obviously acting well outside the purview of any government agency!" He jabbed a finger at Hafidha every few words.  
  
Hafidha held up a finger. "I'll do you one better: 'Hackers? What hackers?'" Her eyes unfocused and refocused, as she stood up. "Pizza's here."  
  
"I'm half-hoping it is an assassin," Chaz sighed, as he followed Hafidha down the stairs to the lobby. "after everything we've found out, we know _nothing_."  
  
"It's not that bad. We found some contacts from the Society, and by the time we're ready to go, we'll know where we're going." Hafidha checked her gun one more time before opening the lobby door and following Chaz across the echoing room. "You think Mom's going to let us take Brady and Nikki, this time? You did kind of uncover the--" She trailed off as Chaz stopped, a few feet back from the glass doors of the building.  
  
"Hafs? Go step behind something. Something's wrong, here."  
  
What was right was that the guy was mostly hidden behind one of three large thermal bags. But, what Chaz could see of him kept changing shape and colour. The part of the face he could see wasn't stable. He couldn't describe the man's looks, though he was fairly certain he was looking at a man. Masculine features came up more often. Contrary to his first instincts, he covered the mirror and looked again, patting his pockets as if trying to find the key to unlock the door. The man appeared fairly nondescript and Middle-Eastern, like any number of people who might be seen walking down the street or delivering pizzas, but as he pulled out the key and uncovered the mirror, the shifting features returned. A block, then, against exactly what Chaz intended.  
  
"Looks like I got just what I wanted!" Chaz said, as he pulled the door open, hoping Hafidha would read that the way he meant it. "Why don't you bring those in and unpack them on the security desk, there, and I'll sign the receipt so you can get out of here."  
  
He waited until all three bags had been moved, and looked the man right in the eye, as he locked the door after the last. "Who are you?"  
  
The response was not at all what he'd expected.  
  
It was like being back in Midland, standing in the snow on the other side of the storm door from a man trying to drive him to suicide. But, where Weaver had been frightening, he'd been ill-prepared for anyone to push back. This man was a kind of prepared Chaz had hoped never to encounter, and the thought crossed his mind that if Reid cracked, it would be like this. Like Aurelio, this man recognised exactly what he was and what he was doing, but instead of just brushing him off, as Aurelio had, the man leaned into it, flooding his mind with terrors and temptations in equal measure. There was no subtlety. This wasn't about information, this was a full frontal assault designed to leave him confused and hallucinating, at best.  
  
Chaz staggered under the force of it, bracing himself against the security desk, and then focused himself, focused the mirror, turning all of it back on its creator. He couldn't see through the haze of malice that hung around them, and he knew that was the other man's influence. He'd always been able to tell the difference. But, now, he didn't dare close his eyes. The temptation to lash out like he had with Beale was almost overpowering. He was almost certain he could kill the assassin without laying a hand on him. It was something he'd learned to do in that nightmare he'd fought to come back from. _Almost_ , though. He could feel the man picking at the edges of his awareness, trying to find a way past the mirror, and he badly wanted to try, but if he killed the assassin, they'd be where they'd started. They'd still have nothing.  
  
"Who made you?" the man asked, his voice heavily accented in a way Chaz couldn't identify, and Chaz thought again of Aurelio's talk of the ancient lineages in which the family's mythology shaped the manifestation of the Anomaly. "Are you one of Chel's children?"  
  
Chaz didn't answer, wouldn't expose himself to all the ways a single answer would let this man into his mind. He knew better; _he_ did things like that. But, the insistent scraping at the edges of his consciousness was growing a good deal more dire. The assassin didn't need to keep him alive. Any answers he might provide weren't particularly essential. And the fact was, he'd probably been mistaken for Reid. Again.   
  
Or not, he realised after a moment, the pressure in his head finally exceeding the last time he'd had about six too many cups of coffee in three hours. He was the agent who'd handled the attempt in Saltville. He and Deaver, from the Lincoln office. Suddenly, he wondered if Deaver was still alive.  
  
"Villette." Equal amounts venom and confusion, and a flicker of the layer behind that confusion. "You're one of us. Why don't I know that name?"  
  
Somehow, Chaz managed to unclench his teeth, and he hoped Hafidha was still behind a pillar. "Because I'm the only one."  
  
The pressure in his head, the constant drumming against the inside of his forehead, seemed to let up as he rolled his shoulders, and the room filled with the smell of blood. This wasn't something he wanted to be, but it barely mattered what he wanted as the hundreds of visions of the assassin unfurled around them both. Every fear, every nightmare, arrayed in glittering red. And the pressure suddenly stopped, as the assassin recoiled, trying to protect himself, to shield his mind against its own horrors.  
  
Here, at last, he knew what he was seeing. " _Kimi_."  
  
Chaz felt his ribs crack, even as he was sure the assassin hadn't moved -- no, this wasn't just an assassin, this was _Kim of Bedlam_ , come to personally clean up the mess they'd made. He wasn't going to get through another hit like that, not pinned against the security desk like he was. How the hell was Kim still coherent? And more than just coherent, able to manifest something _else_ in the middle of the flickering hail of nightmares that-- Because he wasn't a changeling, as Aurelio had called it. Chaz realised that he was faced with someone else who'd probably been born anomalous and survived it, like he had, which meant Kim had a lot more practice under him than anyone Chaz had sent to Idlewood, over the years.  
  
The subtle flicker of ... something caught Chaz's eye. It was as if the air had suddenly blossomed, and he twisted out of the way as the edge of the desk exploded behind him and to the side. And he took advantage of the moment of confusion to step and turn again, out of Kim's vision, as he faded into a scattering of mirror shards. Twist the light, turn the vision. Tip the mirror, turn the mind. He spoke words he didn't know, as they flooded into his mind, and a woman's scornful voice poured out of his mouth.  
  
This wasn't what he wanted to be. He hated that he could do this. But, Kim's spine stiffened at the sound, and the reflections changed, a swath of them featuring a regal, older woman whose gaze seemed to melt into the bones. The pressure inside Chaz's head returned, like a fist against the inside of his skull, and he turned it away, watching Kim's expressionless eyes take in the new rush of visions.  
  
And that was new, he realised. Not just that he'd been able to actually see for a bit, now, but that he could see _Kim_. As Chaz had expected, on some level, the man looked nothing like he had, at the door. Dark hair, broad nose, thin lips, wide-set monolidded eyes... Alaskan native, maybe? Siberian? Surprising, but not entirely relevant. Definitely a face he'd remember, though, if he survived this.  
  
"What are you?" Kim demanded, and for the first time, Chaz realised Kim hadn't actually spoken. Not once.  
  
"I'm you," Chaz responded, still concealed in the illusion of shattered glass, as he stepped out of the way of another strike that chipped one of the pillars. Langly was going to have his head for this.  
  
Kim shifted to a more subtle approach, trying to follow the answer back to its source, but Chaz was ready for exactly that, and all roads led back to Kim's memories. But, he couldn't keep this up. Kim was just as fast as he was. Every response, every memory, every thought about something outside the moment left a faint thread that Chaz had never paid much mind to -- even Weaver had struggled to follow them. He'd laid a path for Weaver, and the man had dived straight into horrors he hadn't been quite ready for. But, Kim seemed to have Spencer's talent for picking up the most delicate of connections. All he could do was deflect and reflect.  
  
No, there had to be another way. He'd trapped Weaver, worn him down, but Kim wasn't going to be worn down so easily. Or, maybe he would, if Chaz kept giving him something to swing at. Kim's own memories were better shielded now, and the nightmares were mostly Chaz's own, now featuring Kim as the unfortunate protagonist. But, he had a wedge, and as much as he hated it, he knew how to use it.  
  
He spoke the words he still didn't understand, the woman's voice and demeanour returning to him as if they belonged. And Kim's eyes flashed as he lashed out at what Chaz could only assume was the older woman from the earlier visions. Again, no motion of the hands, but the air rippled outward as if driven aside by a blow, and Chaz twisted just barely out of the way, feeling the wind jerk at his sleeve before the glass doors caught the blow, the left one showing a point of impact the size of a softball as the glass turned grey. Was that even glass?  
  
But, the sliver of recognition in Kim's eyes was enough for Chaz to chase inward, and the next voice was one Chaz recognised as Kim's, even if he still didn't know the words. Still, he could tell that whatever had been said, it was a costly decision, one buried under a cover of necessity.  
  
Another strike, and this one anticipated that Chaz would move. It clipped his shoulder, and he felt the socket give. Great. More years of physical therapy for his shoulders. So, he stepped back the other way, placing himself where Kim would least expect him to be, he thought. And as he peeled open another regret, another sound demanded his attention.  
  
A gunshot.  
  
And in that moment, Kim's assault fell away entirely, and Chaz seized what control he could, containing Kim's mind with reflections of regret and pain. The glass storm vanished like the illusion it was, and Chaz stood awkwardly along its former outer rim, one arm hanging useless at his side, breaths tense and shallow. He spotted Reid looking grim, by the elevator, gun still aimed at where Kim had fallen.  
  
"He can still break your ribs," Chaz warned, gesturing at the damaged door with his good arm.  
  
"He can still kiss my ass," Langly snapped from somewhere behind Reid. "Make sure this one doesn't kill himself."  
  
Chaz leaned against the security desk and regretted it instantly. "I doubt that's going to be a problem. _This one_ is Kim of Bedlam."


	20. Chapter 20

Mary picked shards of granite out of Hafidha's face and arm, as Chaz tried to wring answers out of Kim, while the master thief was still struggling with the pain of having been shot in the leg.  
  
"The glasses probably saved your eye," Mary decided, eyeing the damage to the painted titanium frames. "Might've saved your life."  
  
Chaz had fended off any attempt at medical care, aside from a rough sling, insisting that he couldn't be more distracted than he was until Kim was unconscious, and they were sure he could be kept that way for a while. He had accepted the chair, though he knew he'd be hard-pressed to get out of it. At least he didn't have to worry about falling.  
  
"Tell me about the American Society for the Betterment of Mankind," he said, as casually as he could manage, knowing he wasn't going to get an answer. But, he didn't need one. He just needed Kim to think about the Society.  
  
And in the flickers of thought that glimmered in the pain-split cracks in the calm around Kim's mind, he started to get an impression of a much stranger story. "You're not young enough to be one of the children," Chaz protested, and something crystallised. "Because you're not one of the children. You're one of the originals. Somewhere out there, there might be more of you."  
  
"There's more of _me_ ," Langly drawled, wiping his glasses on his shirt as he evaded Reid's grab at his arm and crossed the room to where Kim still lay on the floor, a tourniquet around his thigh. "It's fucking weird, right? Suddenly, you walk into a room, and there's ten more of you, and where the hell did they come from?"  
  
Kim peered up at Langly, and Chaz clamped down on the part of Kim's mind that reached out toward him. Clearly annoyed, Kim opened his mouth, bringing forth a voice that sounded like it hadn't been used in years. "Viveka?"  
  
And Chaz knew at once the name wasn't on the list they had.  
  
"Who the hell is--" Langly stopped and tipped his head, putting his glasses back on. He waved at Mary. "C'mere a minute."  
  
As he studied both Langlys side by side, Kim's mind flooded with memories, of which Chaz could only get hints. Men with bowties and heavy overcoats, a young woman with golden hair, an older woman -- the one whose voice he knew. A discussion about reindeer, in which he knew none of the words, but Kim's recollection provided the context. And then a hotel, brass and red-gold wood. The intentions of the bowtied men were clear, even if the words weren't. But, no. He couldn't understand the words because Kim hadn't understood them. The words had never been important. The intentions of the men were important, and Kim regarded them with no small amount of suspicion. But, the golden-haired woman was more important than anything else, and Kim remembered her vividly -- in the light from a window with beautiful ironwork, in the bath, bringing down lightning from the open sky on one of the bowtied men.  
  
That was Langly's progenitor. There was no doubt. And Kim recalled her as something he'd misplaced. She was there, and then she was gone.  
  
"What happened to Viveka?" Chaz asked, and this time Kim answered, again without opening his mouth.  
  
"Why don't you ask her? She's right there."  
  
"Because I want to know what you saw."  
  
"I saw nothing."  
  
And Chaz could tell he wasn't lying. Not in the strictest sense. He had seen nothing, _with his own eyes_. This said nothing, of course, about what he'd pulled from other minds, later.  
  
The questioning was interrupted by someone pounding at the door, and with a quick glance around the room, Langly went to answer it, finding a huge man and an Asian woman on the other side. "Who the hell are you?"  
  
The woman looked confused, for a moment. "Right. The last time I saw you, you were unconscious. Agents Lau and Brady; Hafs called us."  
  
"Great. Don't stand in front of the guy on the floor, and see if you can get Villette to stop wheezing like a badass." Langly stepped out of the way, and Hafidha waved them in.  
  
"What happened to your face?" Lau asked, eyeing the tape and gauze on the side of Hafidha's head.  
  
"What happened to this door?" Brady asked, noticing the dent on the inside of it.  
  
"That's why you don't stand in front of the guy on the floor," Langly said, pulling the door shut behind them. "He can punch you with his brain."  
  
"Don't worry about me." Hafidha held up a hand. "I took a little flying granite while I was calling you. Do worry about Chaz. I think he's the only thing keeping the international terrorist in check."  
  
"Versus the bleeding hole in his leg." Brady nodded, eyes drifting from the tourniquet around Kim's leg to the rough sling holding Chaz's arm. "Didn't you just get tasered last week?"  
  
"I'm not having a good month." Chaz's eyes never left Kim. "Neither is Kim, here."  
  
"You got any allergies?" Mary asked Kim, but he wouldn't even look at her.  
  
"I don't think he does," Chaz said, after a moment. "The word has meaning, but it doesn't have personal meaning."  
  
Chaz reeled as if he'd been slapped, and as he bared his teeth, Kim jerked away, jarring wound in his leg. While Kim was still trying to clear his head, Mary pressed an auto-injector to the top of his arm, punching the needle straight through the light jacket he wore.  
  
Mary grinned at the room full of hot feds. "Give him a minute, and we'll be safe to evacuate."  
  
As Kim's head rolled dizzily, Lau crossed to Chaz, offering her hand. "Need some help getting up?"  
  
"No. He doesn't." Mary looked up from Kim's slow descent into unconsciousness. "Broken ribs. Do not pull, lift, or fold. Assface, here, you can just throw in the trunk, but you have to move him fast. If he wakes up, he'll kill you both, and he needs proper sedation, not an expired sheep sedative I found in the bottom of my bag."  
  
Kim's lips moved, but the words were too quiet to hear. Chaz repeated them.  
  
"Viveka. They bought me for Viveka, for the price of a bull."

* * *

Idlewood was the best choice, as much as Chaz hated being there as a patient. There wasn't time to have him seen to, elsewhere, and still get Kim transported before the sedative ran out. And more than that, no one had any idea how long the sedative would last on a gamma, when it wasn't even intended for use on humans, so he had to be there, in case Kim woke up.  
  
Still, it was just a few broken bones, and Idlewood was well prepared for that, despite being a psychiatric facility, if only because of the injuries an anomalous individual could so easily inflict on themselves and others -- not just the weird shit, but the increase in strength and speed made every confrontation more dangerous, and right then, Chaz was thoroughly aware of that.  
  
"We're just waiting for the swelling to come down a little, Agent Villette." The doctor was one of the newer ones, and they hadn't met before. "Then we'll have to put some pins in that shoulder and maybe one rib. I don't like the look of it. You're lucky your ribs didn't puncture your lungs."  
  
"If you have to move bone, you need to do it now."  
  
The doctor chuckled. "No, I know who you are. We have a few hours before I have to worry about it healing in the wrong place. The bruising is already fading slightly, and if I wasn't about to cut you open, I'd say it would be gone by tomorrow. But, we'll have you put back together before it's serious. Don't worry about a thing."  
  
"The only thing I'm worried about is the man I came in with. He needs to stay sedated, as deeply as possibly, for right now. Once _I'm_ not sedated, you can bring him up a bit, but I've been working with you guys for ... what, fifteen years, now? And as far as I know, you don't _quite_ have the facilities to handle him, when he's awake. He's dangerous like I am, and then some. He shouldn't be attended by anyone who can't withstand a psychic assault, and _no one_ should be in a room with him, if he's awake. That said, I do think he needs to be able to see his targets, because he missed me a few times when I stepped out of the way after speaking."  
  
"This is him _missing_?"  
  
"Well, the shoulder is. The ribs... I wouldn't be sitting here were it not for the Anomaly. He doesn't need to make physical contact _at all_. And I have absolutely no doubt that it would only take him a matter of minutes to put a hole in most of the walls, here." Chaz took a careful breath, still trying to figure out how to make it hurt less. "Judging by the transparent aluminium window he hit, think anti-tank rounds the size of my palm. He didn't make it through the window on the first hit, but the damage looks like about four hundred feet per second." He glanced down at himself, tipping his head almost apologetically. "I'm anomalous and I have really good gear."  
  
"That must've been some amazing ballistic plate." The doctor blinked. "You're sure about the impact speed?"  
  
"Doreen cut the vest off, when I came in. It's still with the rest of my clothes, if you want to make your own judgements." Chaz lifted his good shoulder in a shrug and then looked like he might vomit when his ribs moved with it. "I'm just going off the softball-sized dent in the bulletproof glass door."  
  
"I'll let the team know what we're dealing with, and I'll be back in about an hour and a half to pin you back together."

* * *

Duke peeked around the edge of the door, making sure he'd gotten the right room, and that Chaz was both awake and at least sort of dressed. Finding all these things to be true, he texted a quick confirmation to Hafidha and stepped into the room, unbuttoning one of his pockets.  
  
"Don't tell the nurse," he said, as Schmengy Paws climbed out of the pocket and up the front of his vest. "You doing okay, in here?"  
  
"I keep telling myself I've been through worse, but I think 'worse' wanted a lot less morphine." Chaz squinted blearily across the room, from where he'd been propped up in the bed, closer to sitting up than lying down. "I'm wasted, I can't sleep, and everything still hurts."  
  
"Been there." Duke nodded, scritching the kitten with one finger. "So, the guy they won't let me near, out there, he's really the one behind the assassins?"  
  
"Sort of." Chaz breathed a little less carefully than he had earlier, but he wasn't sure if that was the morphine or finally finding a way that hurt less. "They're his men, but someone hired him. And Frank and Hafs just deposed him, so he came down to solve that problem, personally. He wasn't counting on me. To be fair, I wasn't counting on him, either. He's ..."  
  
"Anomalous, obviously."  
  
Chaz gave his head a narrow shake. "Not the important part. He's not just anomalous, he's really skilled. He knows what he's doing, which is _rare_."  
  
"Not that rare. Most of them figure it out eventually."  
  
"How many of them have been anomalous longer than I have? How many of them have learned to protect themselves against things like me?"  
  
Duke's eyebrows lifted and a low whistle escaped him, as he pulled over the only chair in the room and sat down. "Things like you? Something you're not telling me?"  
  
" _Weaver_ , for an obvious answer. You know how that went. But, Kim's been doing this a long time, and if I'm right, his mother and grandmother did, too. Somewhere in Finland, there's a family of reindeer herders who can read minds and compel people, not just to single actions, but to epic quests." Chaz tipped his head down and bent one arm at the elbow, to scratch his nose. "You never notice how many things move your ribs until you're not supposed to move your ribs."  
  
"Ribs are bad, but I still hold fingers are worse."  
  
"That's different. You're _missing_ fingers. I'm not missing any ribs." Chaz paused, looking mildly disconcerted. "Or if I am, nobody told me."  
  
"Go back to the part where you hit your head. Reindeer herders and epic quests?" Duke peered at the kitten on his shoulder. "What do you think? Did your daddy hit his head?"  
  
"Meee!" Schmengy Paws squeaked, sticking a paw on Duke's cheek.  
  
"The cat agrees with me."  
  
"I didn't hit my head, and it's not the morphine, but thanks for your faith in my abilities. Means a lot to me," Chaz drawled. "Kim couldn't protect himself, once Mary drugged him. So, there are things I'm not sure of and things I can't make sense of, but I got a lot of things around the subject of the woman we think is the origin of the Lincoln cluster. He says her name is Viveka, and he thought Frank was her."  
  
" _Frank_?" Duke pointed toward the door. "Not Dr Langly, but _Frank_? Gotta be the legs."  
  
"I'll tell him you said so. But, in his memory, she does look a lot like Mary, but without the--" Chaz closed his eyes and went through those few minutes again. "Glasses. He took off his glasses, when he came over, and then Kim called him Viveka. They all have _almost_ the same face, and the difference is primarily hair and glasses."  
  
"So, he sees Frank and starts having flashbacks?"  
  
"More or less. But, he was still awake, then, so I could get just enough to ask relevant questions -- not that he answered most of them -- but not enough that I didn't have to ask." This time, Chaz remembered not to shrug. "But, by the time Mary sedated him, he was looking at both of them, so most of his thoughts were about Viveka. The last thing he said before he passed out was that the Society had bought him from his family for the price of a bull reindeer, in order to match him with Viveka. Which means he's from the first incarnation of the Society, not the second. And it also explains why Frank heard that the Society has his DNA."  
  
"He's anomalous, and that guy looks like he's what, thirty? You know better, Chaz. Gammas don't live that long. Normal people leading safe and happy lives don't live that long. He'd be a hundred and twenty." Duke unhooked the cat from the side of his scalp and put it on the bed.  
  
Chaz watched Schmengy Paws venture across the thin blanket next to his ankle. "I might live that long."  
  
"And you're sure you didn't get hit in the head? I heard half your vest turned into sand."  
  
"Sol, I'm fucking serious. It's been a real hell of a month." Chaz reached for the thick plastic cup on the cabinet next to him, and the colour drained from his face.  
  
Duke edged the chair closer, so he could hold the cup where Chaz could reach the straw.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"A hundred and twenty? You? I mean, me, sure. I'm never going to die, at this rate. But, you?"  
  
Chaz sighed and regretted it. "A few weeks ago, I was in Baltimore, unexpectedly, where I interviewed a witness who was anomalous. A gamma. In his own words, he wasn't sure how old he was, but his fake birth certificate says he's sixty-seven. He's not sixty-seven. He was serving as a doctor in India during the First World War." He held up a hand, moving nothing but his wrist. That seemed to work. "He also talked about anomalous families, in which both parents were anomalous -- full-blown gammas -- and the children usually took after one or the other of them, and were raised in that tradition. Mythologies passed on for _generations_. We always knew it was possible, but I've been the only _possible_ example, aside from maybe Autumn, and we're not sure either of us are, however likely it is. The point is, he said there were two kinds of anomalous people, and the lines aren't where we put them -- people who are born with it, in anomalous families, survive until they're damaged too badly to recover; people who change, later in life, are what he calls 'changelings', and they're what we encounter most often. They're not prepared to contain the Anomaly, and it burns through them, and they die. But, their children would be the first generation of a new lineage, supposedly. Not as long-lived as older lineages, but I guess the resistance grows with each generation. The Anomaly shapes the body, and we've never been able to _prove_ it, because there haven't been enough tests on people who weren't changelings."  
  
"And now I ask the question we all dread." Duke set down the cup and unhooked Schmengy Paws from the blanket on top of Chaz's shins. "Can you prove any of this?"  
  
"Not yet, but we have Kim of Bedlam, and I think he's lineage as opposed to changeling, which gives us a sample that should show differences a lot more significant than... well, even if I am first generation, the sample's useless. Deviations may not be..." Chaz shot Duke a pained look. More pained than he'd been. "And if we can find the Society, we may be able to track down the sources for their experimental materials, and some of those people may still be alive. Either way, the Society probably has documentation. So, no. I can't prove it right now, but we're catching up to the people who can prove it, and whether or not I'm right about his age, we have one of their subjects in the other room."


	21. Chapter 21

"So, how's the man with two brains holding up?" Mary asked, handing Reid a cup of coffee that smelled surprisingly good.  
  
"One brain, thank you very much. I have one brain, because I am an entire person unto myself." He sipped the coffee and discovered it tasted as good as it smelled. Maybe there was something to be said for a psychiatric hospital that had good coffee. On the other hand, there was something to be said for not being surrounded by the criminally insane and _anomalous_. "If you want to know how Chaz is doing, you're going to have to ask him that."  
  
"Uhh, I'm not asking about Chaz, I'm asking about you." Mary hooked a chair out with her foot and dropped into it, leaning across the corner of the table to look at Reid. "But, if you only have one brain, I guess you're fine."  
  
Reid gazed at her in confusion for the space of several shallow breaths, and then his face relaxed in understanding. "Yes. I can understand your concerns, but the experience he's having is entirely his." He offered a small nod. "Thank you. I think you and Frank are the only ones who know enough to be concerned, and he knows enough not to be. I shot the assassin _after_ Chaz got hit."  
  
"Hey, I was still upstairs for that."  
  
Duke came into the conference room, trailed by a pair of nurses, both of them cooing over the kitten he was no longer trying to hide. "These people are clearly cat-deprived. It's a good thing they caught us in Chaz's room, and not that doctor." He paused, looking at one of the nurses. "Who is that doctor, anyway? I don't think I know her."  
  
"Dr Adebayo's only been with us since last year," the young man told him. "We needed a new surgeon on call, after Dr Park moved back to Wisconsin. It's so rare we need one, but when we do..."  
  
"I remember why you need a surgeon on call. Trust me. I was around for that." Duke held the cat out for more petting, with one hand, and held up the hand missing fingers in a brief wave. "But, if you'll excuse me, my colleagues and I need to debrief this kitten, after this most recent failed stealth mission."  
  
The other nurse's eyes caught on the fingers that weren't there, and for a moment, she looked like she might ask. Instead, she clapped her co-worker on the back. "Come on, let's leave the special agents to their special kitten. You take good care of that little fuzzball, Agent Todd."  
  
"I bet the cat's a gamma," the first nurse said, on the way out the door. "I bet it can read minds."  
  
Duke closed the door, knowing the rest of the impromptu task force would have no qualms about letting themselves in, but that it might stop the staff from wandering into a meeting that wasn't their business _yet_. He had no doubt it would be, though. The Lincoln cluster wasn't something that could be ignored.  
  
"So, what do we know? You started poking around the Lincoln cluster, and the Society hired that guy to kill you, except he's one of their subjects, so ... is 'hired' really the right word?" Duke deposited Schmengy Paws on the table, watching the kitten wobble and slip across the slick laminate.  
  
"For the moment, we have nothing to suggest it isn't." Reid spotted the whiteboard on the other side of the room and dragged it closer to the table, making notes as he talked. "Let me start at the beginning, or what we think the beginning is. About a hundred years ago, the United States was at the height of the eugenics craze. Everyone wanted to make better people, and most of the time, this ended in the promotion of racism, in the form of whiteness and northern European ancestry being put forth as key to other valuable traits. Except not everyone in the movement was convinced that was the case, and some weren't sure _any_ humans would be sufficient to enhance the population. There were people who were convinced that the most profound genetic improvements had to come from outside the human race -- and about thirty years later, after the popularity of eugenics fades, the popularity of alien abduction scenarios goes up. But, these people were looking for superhuman abilities and ways to consistently manifest them in children. The founding members of the American Society for the Betterment of Mankind fought in the first World War, and they'd seen inexplicable things in the trenches. So, between about nineteen eighteen and nineteen forty, the Society sought out the men they remembered and their families, looking for people without shellshock, who'd survived the influenza epidemic, and who were possessed of some apparently unnatural ability, though most of the first group were considered exceptional on the basis of what they'd survived."  
  
Duke nodded, wiggling his fingers for the kitten. "Hafs mentioned you had some documentation from the early days."  
  
"A lot, actually. The Society was pretty public, until the Nazis managed to taint eugenics, in the American consciousness." Reid sat on the edge of the table and reached for his coffee. "So, we know they had a breeding programme, where they tried to pair up men and women who both had exceptional abilities, so they'd be more likely to get a child who carried a gene for one, as well. But, the time didn't particularly lend itself to the visibility of women, in general, and women who were in any way unusual were more often concealed in some way by their families, so the number of women in the first generation of the project is much too low for a substantial success, even if we assume that less than half of those women were writing snippets for pamphlets or giving speeches."  
  
Mary kicked her chair back and crossed her ankles on the edge of the table, watching Reid note the document number for the list of subjects, which wasn't all that complete. Mostly, it had been drawn from those who had written pamphlets and public letters about how they saw themselves adding to the future of humanity, as the Society envisioned it. "Except one of those women didn't die, and she's the most successful subject for the second generation."  
  
"It's ... well, we're not sure if its true, _yet_. We know the Society went underground for a few decades, and it was thought that their subjects returned home. Some of them may have done so. Some of them, we know, died. I suspect the deaths were in some way anomalous, for the most part, but I don't have the documentation to back that up." Reid shook his head and flicked a hand dismissively. "But, the Society faded out, in the early 1940s. The publications stopped during World War Two, and there's no sign of them or their philosophies until the Lincoln clinic opened in the mid-sixties. Advertising for the clinic presented it as a low-cost way for couples stricken by the sterilisation effects of their parents' and grandparents' choice in fertiliser to have children. And Frank was among the first of those children. Frank and, ah, _Richard_ Langly, who was probably actually the first success. And seventeen years later, despite attempting to keep a close eye on all the children, they lost Langly. That's right before you showed up." He tipped the marker at Duke.  
  
"I remember that every family I interviewed was just so happy to have a kid. That was the dominant theme in all the interviews -- they'd been hopeless, and the doctors at the clinic had worked a miracle. The thing is, implanting an egg like that was a whole new thing with people. I guess they'd been doing it with livestock for a while, and everybody in the know was curious how the kids turned out, and they were fine. In the pictures, they were all blond and blue-eyed, but I remember thinking they were _kids_. Most white kids look like that until they grow out of it, and these were like... baby and toddler photos, because that was gonna be the appeal of the article, if I ended up having to play it straight. But, the older kids were at school, when I interviewed the parents. Except that Langly guy, I guess. He ran away from home a few months before I got there, and his mother was still pretty broken up about it. Dad kept going on about how he was gonna give the kid an ass-whooping he'd never forget, though. Everybody else seemed to be pretty well-adjusted, considering, though there was that one lady, I can't remember her name, who I'm pretty sure was doped out of her mind. Something wrong in that house, but nothing to do with the kid."  
  
"Lakeland. You're thinking of Lakeland, and her problem is Valium." Mary pointed at Duke. "So, why didn't you play it straight?"  
  
"Couldn't do it. The article would've been free publicity, if I couldn't point a finger, and I couldn't." Duke shook his head and scratched Schmengy Paws behind one ear "But, I was so sure, the more I looked at the photos and the interviews, that something wasn't right, there. I'm not great with kids' faces, but they all looked way more like each other than any of them did like the parents. There just wasn't anything _there_. By the time I got someone willing to go inside as a patient, the place had closed down, and what I had wasn't particularly newsworthy without the clinic."  
  
"Once the clinic closed down, the deaths started. Most of the clinic staff died in car accidents over a six-month period, though a significant number died of heart failure. All of the deaths were ruled natural or accidental. There are a few people who vanished without a trace, and we're uncertain whether they're dead of they moved on to the Society's next project. Dr Granger, however, the doctor with the largest number of successful implants, is _reportedly_ dead. As far as we know, his death is in the same period with the car accidents." Reid moved his coffee away from the kitten, then moved it again, before giving up and finishing it. "Backing up for a second, here, there were three doctors on the project, Granger, Adler, and Pastore. Granger, the most successful, is dead, and Adler and Pastore vanished, which is not surprising, since they're actually Orlov and Pasternak. The Adler and Pastore identities could just have been discarded."  
  
"And not a peep is heard out of any of these people, until we come along and start digging up graves." Mary peered around the edge of her shoe as the kitten tried to climb it. "Then, all of a sudden, we're all on a hit list. As far as I can tell, that's something to do with Dick--" She caught herself and recovered quickly, as the door at the end of the room opened again. "--sandwich Supreme, over there, jerking around with the phone lines in my uncle's old house."  
  
"What are we talking about?" Langly asked, offloading a tray of smaller metal trays with cardboard lids at the end of the table.  
  
"How you got us into shit with the assassins by dicking around with Aunt Helen's phone line," Mary shot back, as Schmengy Paws tottered down her leg toward her lap. "Is that lunch? That smells like lunch."  
  
"Dinner, I think?" Hafidha kicked the door closed again and set down the two enormous pitchers and the stack of cups. "Either way, I told them there were eight of us, and two were me and Chaz. I was lying about Chaz. He's sleeping. Brady's sitting with him, which I don't think is a good idea, but Brady also has no idea what's going on, so we can lose him for this. He knows he's not allowed to let anybody break any more parts of Chaz."  
  
"What's food?" Mary asked, poking the kitten in the nose.  
  
"Lasagne. Two beef, four chicken, and two ... uh ... satan." Langly wiped his glasses off and looked at the label again.  
  
"It's seitan, you dweeb, and one of them's Nikki's." Hafidha grabbed one of the beef boxes and poured herself a bright orange drink.  
  
Mary held up a hand. "Beef!"  
  
Langly slid one down the table to her and a chicken across to Reid. "I know you. I don't have to ask."  
  
"I'll take the other seitan, if he didn't." Duke volunteered. "Chloe makes a great Italian sausage."  
  
"Wait, _Chloe_?" Reid looked down the table and realised nobody here but Mary had been with him on that case, and she wouldn't know any better than he did.  
  
"Sure, that nice girl from, what Kansas? The one who makes the plants grow."  
  
Mary paused in the middle of trying to settle the kitten somewhere that wasn't going to end in cat-fur lasagne. "Wait, no, _Nebraska_? The _scarecrow killer_ 's last victim?"  
  
Duke nodded. "Yeah, that's her. She's one of the cooks, now. Keeps rabbits and chickens, and some of them go into dinner and some of them go into the garden, but I've never had vegetables better than the ones she grows."  
  
"It's because meat's really good fertilizer," Langly said, realising his choices were chicken or chicken. "They actually sell powdered blood for putting in your fields. Bone, too."  
  
"It's why flowers grow so well on body dump sites," Reid agreed. "But, she was a little different. Definitely anomalous."  
  
"This is the place you wouldn't tell me about," Mary realised. "You said you were taking her to doctors who 'understood her condition'. And then you told me about this place when-- ah, because of the Lincoln cluster, and you _still_ didn't tell me this is where you sent her. So, what, she lives here, now? I thought this place was for the criminally anomalous!"  
  
"Statistically, the Anomaly produces killers," Duke said, rescuing the kitten from Mary's awkward grip. "But, this is the only place that handles anomalous healthcare, so..."  
  
Reid nodded, still not mentioning that Chloe had been the scarecrow killer. "And apparently she's doing well. I understand not everyone recovers as well as she has."  
  
"But, the Lincoln cluster--"  
  
"We don't actually know what they've done," Langly reminded her. "We just know they're eating well enough not to die, and they haven't been _caught_."  
  
"And speaking of getting caught, _your_ dumb ass at Aunt Helen's house--"  
  
"I did not _get caught_. I set a trap, and I didn't set it well enough, but I did not get caught! I stopped them from burning down the house, so I think we did okay!" Langly huffed, dropping into a chair at the far end of the table. "Agent _Douchebag_ lost them in the field!"  
  
" _The point is_ ," Reid interrupted, "thirty years later, the exact same team that put the watch on the house, after Richard Langly ran away, came back to kill the people looking into the history of the clinic and destroy any evidence _Helen_ Langly might have left in the house."  
  
"And we know it's the same people because I got independent confirmation from two different sources." Langly finally opened his dinner. "And now we have a third source who is the guy who got paid to kill us, and he's not exactly denying it. He also mistook me for my... uh... our..." He looked at Mary for help.  
  
"Your prototype," Duke suggested. "Viveka, right?"  
  
"Chaz actually confirm that?" Hafidha asked around a mouthful of lasagne. "By the time the two of you were done talking, all he wanted from me was ice cream, and he was asleep before I got back."  
  
"I need you to tell me it wasn't the drugs," Duke said, trying to get a forkful of lasagne into his mouth without intercepting the extremely determined kitten perched on his shoulder. "He told me some things that go against everything we thought we knew."  
  
"You mean that Kim might have been born around the turn of the twentieth century?" Hafidha grinned. "Oh, I was there for _that_ conversation. That source was _not_ sixty-seven. The identity didn't exist until about thirty years ago, and before that it's a lot harder to keep track, but there's no transitional records anywhere. However old he is, he looked like he was in his thirties, about thirty years ago, and he still looks like he's in his thirties, now."  
  
Reid covered his mouth as he tried to chew and talk at the same time. "Assuming for a moment that the gentleman in question was telling the truth about his experiences, he, too, would be more than a hundred years old. And Chaz would know better than I would."  
  
"Chaz doesn't know shit, actually. He couldn't read the guy at all, and the guy _called him on it_."  
  
"Somebody stopped Chaz?" Duke tipped his head to side-eye Hafidha without the cat in the way.  
  
Reid opened his mouth and closed it again, remembering Duke still didn't know about the two of them.  
  
"Without any effort at all. While eating a taco and carrying on a conversation, in a moving vehicle." Hafidha nodded slowly. "And more than that? About an hour after being given what should've been a fatal amphetamine overdose."  
  
"I have to rethink some things. A lot of things. I mean, we all knew that there was a chance the more anthropomorphic pantheons included actual anomalous people, but if -- _if_ \-- this is true, it makes that a whole lot more likely." Duke tipped his head, popping his neck and scaring the cat, who nearly slid off his shoulder before being propped back up. "So, if Chaz isn't _just_ full of morphine -- and don't get me wrong, he really is pretty full of morphine -- we've got a century-old reindeer herder whose... dowry, I guess, was paid by the Society, so they could take him away from his ... clan? tribe? something. Bigger than a family, smaller than a nation. And pair him up, according to the first experiments, with a woman named Viveka."  
  
"A Swedish woman," Langly pointed out. "FSW zero zero two, which we're pretty sure makes her the second female Swede on the project. She's the source of the Lincoln cluster, and we have a letter that... if it doesn't prove it, it makes it a lot more likely. She's the one Granger reported having good results with, and the Mad Finn out there just mistook me for her."  
  
"You've called him that, before." Reid finally actually sat in a chair, after he dripped a glob of tomato sauce onto the table. "How did you know?"  
  
"I dunno. Before he had a name, before anybody knew who 'Kim' was, there were rumours that Bedlam's top dude had been ousted by some Finnish guy with balls of steel. But, back then, Bedlam was a rumour, like the monsters under the bed. You didn't want to tangle with Visi or Vanity, and you didn't want to get on the wrong side of Bedlam. But, I mean, we knew Visi and Vanity. They were real. We talked to them. If anybody from Bedlam ran with us, we never knew it. We weren't sure if it was real or just some complicated psy-op. Or just an urban legend." Langly finally poured himself a drink. "But, then ... I don't know, somewhere in there, people started calling the Mad Finn 'Kim', but there was Kimmy Belmont, you know, so there had to be a way to tell them apart. Kim of Bedlam, as opposed to any other Kim, and it sounded kind of legendary if you said it like that, instead of the more traditional 'Bedlam!Kim'. Doesn't sound like it, but there's a bang in that."  
  
"I'm pretty sure I heard Chaz call him 'Kimmy', right about the time the wall exploded next to my face." Hafidha was still bandaged, but much less so, now.  
  
"Kimi, with an 'i' is not an uncommon Finnish name, in the period under discussion," Reid volunteered, pushing the half-eaten lasagne away, with the fork still in it.  
  
"One, why do you know that? Two, eat a god damn food, Reid." Langly rolled his eyes.  
  
"There's about a pound of cheese in that. I picked out most of the chicken by lifting from the noodles, but I am not eating that after we had pizza for lunch."  
  
"Shit. Right. Sorry." Langly poured a cup of something from the other pitcher. "Trade you?"  
  
"What... is that?" Reid eyed the brown drink cautiously.  
  
"Ovalti--" Hafidha's face fell as the obvious occurred to her. "La-- Ri-- _Frank_ , you can't give him Ovaltine, it's got milk in it."  
  
Langly looked like the universe had personally offended him. He refilled his own cup and slid it halfway down the table before the weight wasn't enough to keep up the momentum. "Tang. At least it's got sugar in it."  
  
"Thank you." Reid nodded and stretched for the cup, but didn't pass back the lasagne. "Actually, I thought if I waited a little longer, the cheese would cool, and I could peel it off the noodles. I just have to keep myself from accidentally picking at it, while that happens. I will absolutely give you the cheese. You may have all of my cheese for the rest of the day."  
  
"Now, that just sounds gross," Mary drawled.  
  
Langly looked no less offended.  
  
"So, tell me about Viveka," Duke said, offering Schmengy Paws a shred of seitan. If the cat ate lettuce, maybe he'd eat this, too.  
  
"You've talked to Chaz," Hafidha reminded him. "You know more than we do."  
  
"And Chaz doesn't know _much_ more than that. Not yet, anyway. Give him a few days, and he'll be standing up enough to try again."  
  
"I will sit on him," Langly threatened.  
  
"We should really take him home, as soon as we can," Reid suggested, somewhat more sensibly. "He'd be safer and more comfortable not surrounded by the extremely dangerous people he put here, while he's incapacitated. Even if we just move him to his usual hospital, and can I just point out that it's a little distressing that he has a usual hospital?"  
  
"They're not going to kill him accidentally. That's really the important part." Duke looked around the table. "You know they're not going to let all of us stay here all night right?"  
  
"Nikki and I will stay," Hafidha volunteered. "He obviously needs a guard. And someone needs to be here in case Kim wakes up ahead of schedule. Besides, they like me here."


	22. Chapter 22

Chaz knew better than to trust dreams, but dreams were all he had. Repeating faces and themes probably had something to do with reality, if not in quite the way they appeared. But, he'd gotten pretty good at dreams, in the last few months. Spencer's dreams, anyway. He didn't know enough about Kim to know where the buttons were, which signals would get him answers, even from the unconscious mind. But, he was fairly certain Kim couldn't wake up, which gave him an incredible amount of time and leeway.  
  
He was beginning to recognise faces. The pale man with the double-chin, who always wore tweed and bowties, and trundled around like a penguin in a sausage casing. The other bowtie-wearing man -- who was the only consistent black face, thus far -- young and sturdy, crisp suits, always smiling, though the smile didn't always seem happy. The man who looked a bit French and had a neck far too long for his shoulders. The man with the round jaw and the round nose whose face stopped just short of jowls, with a moustache that stretched just to the creases of his smile and no further. And, of course, Viveka.  
  
Viveka who sang down the lightning from a clear sky, the daughter of Thor, who could make the radio shriek and the telephone ring. And how much more terrifying these things must have been in their time, when the technologies were relatively new, particularly to a young man who came from a village with nothing electrical at all. And yes, he _had_ feared her. She held herself like his grandmother had -- and that was another face Chaz knew -- straight-backed and empty-eyed, as if she controlled everything worth paying the least mind to. The crackle of lightning chasing around the edges of the room, the way her hair stood on end with it as it danced between her fingers, skipped between her teeth and tongue. She was not afraid of _him_ , but she came to doubt the judgement of the Society.  
  
At least, Chaz suspected that was what had happened. They all feared her -- not just Kim -- and she knew it. He could see it in the memories and in the dreams, the disappointment and disgust that grew in her eyes. And he remembered one of the first visions he'd had of Viveka, in which she'd struck the fat bowtie man with lightning. She wasn't just bored -- they'd done something to her, and Kim didn't know what, so Chaz didn't know what. Or at least Kim had buried it so deeply he couldn't even see it in his dreams. And that was when Kim had really come into his powers, not just casual mind-reading, like he'd been doing, but the ability to use the force of his will, and it was very much a matter of force. Ramming ideas into unsuspecting minds, blasting holes in walls and windows, and something else... but Chaz couldn't tell it if was real or just a dream interpretation of what had happened. It was _possible_ that Kim, like Jack Dandy, could force himself through the fabric of reality in a matter of seconds. But, in a dream, that was such a common thing. Reality, such as it was, was so malleable in dreams, as he knew so very well.  
  
His ribs ached, and he tried to ignore them. Damage like Kim had done would take weeks to right itself, even for him. He wasn't even supposed to be out of bed, never mind down in the restricted sublevel Kim was being kept on, until they could build him a more appropriate room. He'd been down here, before, and the faraday cage at the other end of the floor still gave him chills, even though it sat unoccupied, for now. And he wondered, given what he knew, if it would contain Langly for long. It wouldn't have held Viveka. He knew that. He remembered the shielding was useless against anyone who kept both their source electricity and their target on the outside. It only made a difference if the current had to pass through it.  
  
But, thinking about that wasn't helping, and the more he thought about Idlewood, the better chance Kim would learn from him, which was the last thing they wanted. But, if Kim actually could pass himself through walls, _nothing_ was going to help, except, _possibly_ , screwing with his memory, which Chaz wasn't sure would work at all, and was less sure was a good idea, when they still needed to get answers from the man. Not that he was getting the answers he needed, now, but he _was_ getting something. Some kind of answers, however scrambled and partially true those might be.  
  
But, why? Why couldn't he read genuine memories from someone sleeping? Because the mythology wouldn't let him do it. He'd broken that before. He'd stolen The Relative's power, when he'd finally needed it. Needed. _Wanted_ , if he was honest. He couldn't find a way to do what he needed-- _wanted_ to do, without it. And he'd justified that horrific violation of another person with the lives he'd saved correcting his own mistakes.  
  
And that led him down another path. Was that it? Was Kim trying to protect someone? Trying to find Viveka, maybe? Had he been promised she'd be returned to him or freed if he played along, tracking her clones and removing anyone else who looked too closely? That didn't feel right, somehow. The relationship with Viveka that he thought he understood didn't really lend itself to that interpretation. Besides, if he wanted to know what happened to her, surely he could have simply read the minds of the other members of the Society until he found out. And Chaz had little doubt that Kim, who had come after _him_ and nearly succeeded, would have no difficulty whatsoever getting to wherever Viveka had been moved. Unless no one knew? Obviously someone knew, but if one or two links in the transit chain turned up dead, the path could be erased. But, that made no sense, unless they were specifically trying to hide her from Kim. Which also made no sense. They didn't seem that attached to each other, in Kim's dreams. Awkward not-quite-friends, he thought, which was a completely bizarre relationship to have with someone you were sleeping with, especially more than once.  
  
No, what he really needed to know was the connection between Kim and _Bedlam_. But, Kim's dreams seemed stuck in the past, endless scenes from the course of maybe a decade almost a hundred years ago. A hundred years ago, Kim had been sixteen. He'd picked that up somewhere. Sixteen and a _freak_. There had never been a son who could do what he did -- they'd always been daughters. So, Kim hadn't received the same training as his mother, grandmother, or sister. He'd been given just enough not to have any accidents with it and taught that it wasn't his place to have more. He'd never marry, the family said, because they couldn't have this spreading. But, Kim had taught himself to speak without saying a word, a vital skill, as it turned out, in a climate where summer just meant it was _less_ cold and the wind would rip the words off your lips. Chaz didn't have the memories of learning, but he did have Kim's pride in being able to do it. There were no memories, now that he considered it, in which Kim spoke with his mouth, and no one ever questioned it. If they were meant to hear him, they heard him and they responded, without fail. So, he'd gained _some_ of the powers of compulsion his family had guarded from him.  
  
And that was a curious difference between them. Where Chaz worked in 'you want to', Kim worked in 'you will'. Chaz bent thoughts and amplified them, until people did things they might not otherwise, and he did it only rarely. But, Kim casually overrode the wills of the people around him -- rarely anything they'd strongly object to, which was probably why it was so easy, but with little or no consideration to what those people might consider reasonable. Though, mostly, he seemed to make people answer him or to provide the already-existing services of an establishment. The risks were mostly in jumping lines or not being sufficiently well-dressed for a restaurant. And Chaz was sure he'd done other things with that power, but those things hadn't been shocking enough or commonplace enough to become part of Kim's dreams. Which suggested that even if he didn't launch attacks like the one on Chaz often, Kim was entirely comfortable doing so.  
  
In fact, none of the dreams were about the past few days, but Chaz wasn't really surprised. He wasn't sure Kim would remember much of that time when he woke, either, given the combination of overexertion and tranquillisers. But, they already knew a lot of that. They'd _caused_ a lot of that. He wondered if Hafs and Langly had found the money to follow, yet. More than that, he wondered if Hafs had noticed he was _missing_ , yet. He kept expecting the door to swing open, because if she knew he wasn't in bed, she knew where he was.  
  
Still, he thought he might go back to bed for a few hours, and then try again, if for no other reason than that every breath felt like getting hit in the ribs again.

* * *

He was gasping, panting; the prickle of sweat passing through his skin made him shiver more than the air that swept across the rivulets of sweat down his chest and back with every motion. And if anyone had told him a year ago that he'd be here now, Reid would've eyed them quizzically and immediately changed the subject. But, it never ceased to amaze him that he'd fallen in love again, and so incredibly physically in lust. But, here he was, in the ideal bed with a surprisingly attractive blond, swapping bodily fluids in ways that disgusted him, when he took the time to consider what he was doing -- which he'd almost stopped doing. Thinking about it, beyond working out the basic mechanical problems, wasn't particularly conducive to enjoying the experience. And that was another thing he'd learned about himself. This was absolutely an experience he enjoyed, having the man he loved wrapped around him in a sweaty, sexual embrace.  
  
No, that was still revolting, when he put it that way. He let himself drift back into the sensations -- the tight grip of knees against his waist, the dizzying pressure of the heel pressed against his tailbone, the slick slide of skin on skin, and oh, how he wanted more of that, as Langly's fingers stroked and teased. But, Langly was perfectly, beautifully naked under him, for the first time in long enough he'd actually have to think about it, and he wasn't going to lean any further down unless Langly pulled him down. Sometimes, that was what they both wanted, but it had to be Langly's decision to go for that much skin contact at once. But, he could definitely encourage it.  
  
"Tomorrow, before breakfast, I want you again."  
  
Langly's eyes opened and he made a sound that might have been a curious purr, if it hadn't been interrupted by several steady thrusts.  
  
"I want you bent over the chair, like I had you the first time I got to touch all of your skin. We haven't done that again, and I want to see if we can make it even better than I remember."  
  
Langly slapped at Reid's arm, panting, as he uncrossed his ankles from behind Reid's back. "Off. _Off_! I know what I wanted, and I know what you wanted, but you said it, and now I want it, and I'm not going to make it to the chair like this, so just let me-- put me on my knees, so I can have your chest on my back and your dick up my ass."  
  
"You already have--"  
  
"You want better? _I_ want better. _Move_."  
  
As they rearranged themselves, Reid felt like he'd lost something in not being able to see Langly's face or to watch the flush spread across the top of his chest. It wasn't always important. Most of the time, he was just happy to be this close to the man he loved, to have found it in himself to get this close to someone, and after this long, to still find it an enjoyable experience. But, sometimes he wanted more, sometimes he wanted to watch the life and the desire that were so obvious on Langly's face. He wanted to be wanted. He wanted Langly to see him and still want him. Which was absurd, really. Especially because it happened regularly, _anyway_.  
  
This was, he suspected as he pushed back into Langly's waiting body, some part of being separated from Chaz. The hollowness of unmet expectation that hovered in the back of his mind, when he stopped himself from reaching out, from sharing this. They couldn't do this, now. Not while Chaz was still on so much morphine -- and it was, he had no doubt, quite a bit. Broken ribs were like that.  
  
He leaned down, pressing himself tight against Langly's back as best he could manage in this position, and felt Langly shiver under him, hips canting up, which left a gap he couldn't close, but he didn't think Langly minded that in the least.  
  
"Tell me," he breathed against the back of Langly's shoulder, rolling his hips until he slipped further in.

* * *

Hafidha found him exactly where she'd known he'd be, when she saw he wasn't in bed. Of all the things Idlewood's staff knew bout Chaz, the thing they didn't know, and she hoped they never found out, was that he was occasionally invisible, to both cameras and the eye, though she'd noticed he wasn't always quite so invisible to her, if anything on him was transmitting signal. She wasn't telling him that, unless she had to. He'd already figured out it was a problem, she noticed, when he came back from Langly's somewhat less than entirely secret lair on Monday, with his phone still battery-free in his pocket. But, she still wasn't going to mention that she knew.  
  
But, there were really only two places he'd go, here, and one was a hell of a lot more likely. And there she found him, worse than exhausted, sicker than she'd ever seen him look out of bed, and reminded herself to thank the doctor who'd gone the extra step to put the plates on his ribs, because otherwise that slump would've put one through his lung. They really did understand gammas, here. That persistent delusion of invincibility, that she was pretty sure Chaz would've had even without the Anomaly, but they'd never know. But, in a way, she had it, too. Maybe a little less obviously, but it was there. They all had it, to some degree.  
  
"Wakey wakey, platypus," she called from the door, knowing she couldn't wake Kim, but not wanting to get too close to Chaz until he registered her presence. "It's half past dinner, and I'm not carrying you back upstairs."  
  
"Hmmf?" was Chaz's nearly coherent answer. Then, "Oh, fuck, what--"  
  
"Hospital," Hafidha reminded him. "You weren't supposed to be out of bed for another ... well, sixteen or eighteen hours from _now_ , so whatever that is, you did it to yourself."  
  
"Shit."  
  
"I hope you can get up. Neither of us want to explain what you're doing here or how you got here. I'll loop the cameras, to get you back out, though."  
  
"Shit," he said again, slowly straightening back up in the chair. "I'm okay," he said, sounding like he was trying to convince himself of that fact. "I don't think I'm bleeding."  
  
"I love you, and we both know what you are, but you might want to actually check on that one. You just had _surgery_ , yesterday. You're good, but you're not that good. Especially not after picking a fight with _this_ asshole." She gestured at Kim. "So, again, can you get up? Do I need to help you? I really need to sneak you back into your room, before someone figures out you're not actually in the bathroom."  
  
Chaz thought about it, for a moment. "I need you to come hold the other side of the chair. I can do this with one arm, but I need you to make sure I don't flip the chair by leaning on one side of it."  
  
"How were you planning on getting back out of here, anyway?" Hafidha asked, bracing the bottom of the chair with her foot.  
  
"Hadn't actually thought that far ahead, or I'd have grabbed a cane and some of those almond butter packets." Chaz made a nearly breathless sound of amusement, as he closed his eyes and tried to lift mostly with his legs. "I can do this," he insisted, as the room rippled and twisted around him. "At least all of my blood is in my body, and nobody brought a taser to the party."  
  
"Standards, platypus. Everyone's gotta have some, even if I question yours." Once Hafidha was sure Chaz wasn't going to fall she handed him a Milky Way. "Not the best choice, but I'm hoping it'll keep you from falling down the stairs, before you get to dinner."  
  
"It's less effort for me not to be seen than it is for me to climb the stairs. We're taking the elevator." Chaz took a larger bite than was wise, arguing with the caramel for a bit before he managed another sentence. "And I'll tell you everything I've learned about Sleeping Beauty, between lunch and now."


	23. Chapter 23

Chaz looked down the table, incredibly grateful that Hafidha had managed to bring him something to wear that wasn't a hospital gown, but still aware that his injuries were glaringly obvious despite the jacket hung over his broken shoulder. "I want to make it clear that I don't think he's a good candidate, bu--"  
  
"Dr Villette, he's an extremely dangerous individual, and we can't keep him sedated much longer," Caroline Mowbray, the neurologist, argued.  
  
Everyone at the table was new. 'New'. No one had been here the last time he'd had this discussion. Not one of these people had been present when he'd argued for the first implant, and he wished Dr Ramachandran had been able to come, but the Fitzgerald Institute meeting was today, which Chaz had forgotten about four times in the course of an hour, and that he blamed on a combination of pain and wishful thinking. As soon as he could think again, the entire mortifying sequence would be forever engraved in his brain, but until then, his recall wasn't all it could be. Still, he knew what he was here for.  
  
"I didn't say don't do it. I'm telling you not to expect it to work nearly as well as it did with Hafidha, and if you recall, the first few years were..." Chaz stopped. "No, you wouldn't. You weren't here. The device works in a very small set of cases, and it has to be repeatedly adjusted to the person it's supposed to be helping. If you go through with this, it will be the first non-consensual use of the implant, and I'm not certain the results are going to be at all as anticipated. I'm _also_ not a good candidate, despite being relatively in control of my faculties." He paused and sipped at the questionable substance in his coffee mug, knowing he was eventually going to have to drink it. "Kim and I were, to the best of my knowledge, both born betas, and we're the traditional cases of juvenile onset and adult progression. I realise that my information is somewhat suspect, having acquired it as I did, but I'm fairly certain the lab is about to tell us if he shows the same markers I do. Which, I admit, still won't tell us much, since those markers appear somewhat inconsistently in juvenile onset betas. If he has it, he's already resistant to most of the more harmful psychological side-effects of the Anomaly. Which means the device is useless, because everything he does is a rational, considered choice, as opposed to a reaction to an irrational fear or rage. So, I guess I _am_ saying don't do it."  
  
And Chaz realised that again, Aurelio had been right. He hadn't considered that there _were_ genetic markers in years, because they'd been completely fucking useless in the greater scheme of things, and they only applied to childr-- The Lincoln cluster. The markers had to show up in the Lincoln cluster, and he knew where to look for them. And he hadn't been looking for them, because he'd kept hoping there would be something they'd missed, some gene for _predisposition_ , rather than resistance. Still, things might be looking better for Delia Novak.  
  
"We can't get the scans while he's awake, which is definitely interfering with the results," Mowbray admitted, cautiously. "I can see patterns that might be what we're targeting, but they're _dreams_. The brain processes things differently, while asleep, and even moreso while sedated."  
  
"There's a good chance he's also reflexively defending himself against _me_." More of the absolutely-not-coffee-but-at-least-it-wasn't-peanut-butter went into Chaz's mouth. Post-crash diets were just as disgusting as he remembered. He had to work on that, at some point that wasn't now, and that was always the problem -- some point that wasn't now became the eternal punt. Maybe he'd drop in on Chloe while he was here, and see what they could work out, together. This, whatever it was, had to go. "I'd like to bring in another professional to look at him, before we make any decisions. Jeanine Moore. I've worked with her before."  
  
"Professional... _what?_ " one of the psychologists asked. Marston? Marchman? Chaz was entirely fed up with not remembering things he normally would, but the hazy distance between himself and the pain in his chest and shoulder was nice.  
  
"She's a specialist in mythologies. Anomalous mythologies, yes, but also the mythologies of any living person who constructs their life around certain static principles. Jeanine is excellent at finding the links between things that seem fairly distant, and I'd like to have her analysis of what we know about Kim." Chaz looked around the table at the handful of people he'd thought might become relevant to the discussion, reflecting again that he barely knew most of them. Death, serious injury, and just plain old compassion fatigue had displaced so many of the faces he was used to. "I also want Kim moved to Eddie Cieslewicz's old room. And I want to be the only person in the room with him, when we do wake him. Yeah, there's a chance he'll turn me into paste, but there's a very good chance that 'hospital' will register before anything else, and I want the chance to convince him that I saved his life."  
  
"But, if you do not succeed..." Adebayo eyed him as though she didn't expect much. "And even if you do, what's to stop him from tearing down the walls? Agent Gates has shown us parts of the video from the building where he was captured. I'm afraid you were very close to the mark regarding the impact speeds."  
  
"Cieslewicz was the guy with the fist, right?" Mowbray caught on, nodding. "If we use his room, it still won't contain Kim permanently, but it does offer us the time to re-sedate him before he can get through the walls. And if he kills you, Villette?"  
  
"He won't survive the experience." Chaz lightly shook his head, feeling a twinge in his ribs. "I still want Jeanine consulting on this one. I'll call her, tonight."  
  
The latch clicked and the door swung open, a thick stack of paper preceding Mary into the room. "Hey, you're a shit. Did I tell you you're a shit, because you're a shit." She moved to slap the papers against Chaz's chest, but rethought that and smacked them onto the table in front of him.  
  
"Allow me to introduce Dr Mary Langly, forensic pathologist. She helped us with Chloe, and now she's... ah... what are you doing here and why am I a shit?" Chaz blinked confusedly down at Mary.  
  
"You said there wasn't a marker. There's a fucking marker. I was down in the lab with Jameson and Hu and I pulled in the results from ..." Mary looked down the table and then back at Chaz. "... the Fitzgerald project, when they told me the marker you had Alfarsi looking for--"  
  
"That's not the marker Alfarsi was looking for, and it's not ..." He was going to have to explain this twice in one day. "The marker we _know_ exists is for a resistance to ah... the more severe and unfortunate anomalous effects. I have it. It's why I'm not a raving lunatic, to put it bluntly. Or, that's what we think, anyway. To date, there have only been three people who show the marker, and we're all surprisingly well-adjusted, all things considered. There is no marker for _predisposition_. Not that we know of. _That_ is what Alfarsi was looking for."  
  
"Fine, it doesn't count, except it absolutely counts, because the Fitzgerald project is..." She glanced down the table. "Nevermind Fitzgerald. Mr I-Can-Kill-You-With-My-Brain has the marker _you're_ looking for, which makes four."  
  
Chaz looked her in the eyes as she glared up at him. "So, he's not a changeling."  
  
He watched the shock wash over Mary's face.  
  
" _Oh_."  
  
"That's the difference. If Kim shows it, we've probably correctly identified the -- or _a_ \-- lineage gene. I was looking for a _changeling_ gene. We don't think there is one, we've never found one, but being able to pin down a combination of genes that might predispose someone to becoming anomalous, rather than just having a traumatic reaction..."  
  
"Would make insurance a real bitch, and you know it."  
  
"It would open the door to _reversing_ it. If we can find it, we can treat it. Theoretically, anyway. In at least some people. Deep brain stimulation works for such a tiny percentage of people -- and it's probably not going to work on Kim, because he's like me. And we're the other end of it. We don't ... there's nothing to treat, in the long term, except the stress that caused the second break." Chaz groaned, tipping his head back and then realising he couldn't -- _shouldn't_ \-- raise either of his hands to his face in that position. "Anyway, I'm calling Jeanine to have a look at him."  
  
" _Moore_?" Again, Mary looked down the table and back to Chaz, one finger raised and her mouth half-open. "We're talking about this before you do it. And you're going to need to call Frank to get her up here in time, so we're really talking about this."  
  
"Anyway, I designed the treatment, and I don't think it's appropriate for use in this case. If it's safe to keep him sedated for another... thirty or forty hours?" Chaz glanced at Adebayo, who tipped her head back and forth contemplatively and reluctantly nodded. "That's what we should do, while I stop taking the morphine and prepare myself for what I'm about to do."  
  
"I would not advise stopping the morphine, now. You will be in an incredible amount of pain, yet," Dr Adebayo warned.  
  
"Flip through my records, sometime. I've had worse."  
  
Adebayo smiled serenely. "Lift your arm straight out from your shoulder and then tell me that."  
  
"Is that wise? You've been telling me not to."  
  
"Just the one without the pins." Adebayo nodded at Mary. "Make sure he lands in a chair."  
  
Chaz shrugged his jacket off, hanging it on the back of the chair he wasn't sitting in, mostly because he didn't want to have to get back up. One shirt sleeve hung empty, his arm under the shirt in a sling. But, he lifted the undamaged arm and swung it in a full circle, his shoulder grinding and snapping in protest after going mostly unmoved for three days. Pain rang through his bones as his chest stretched and his ribs shifted, but he remained standing, a feral grin peeling back his lips. "Any questions?"

* * *

Langly answered the phone without touching it, both hands still on the keyboard as he cleaned up after what turned out to be Hafidha's inadvertent slap at his systems. He'd never given her all the addresses that led in. In fact, he hadn't given her any of them, but she wasn't stupid, and she'd picked up a couple in the normal course of events. But, she hadn't picked up those ones, and they'd read abnormal when she was chasing Bedlam through the same block, so she'd taken a swipe at them, to see what they were. Which of course scared the shit out of Byers, as well it should.  
  
But the call was from a different fed. "How's that breathing thing going?"  
  
"I'm still doing it." Chaz made a sound that might've been a laugh, if he'd been breathing a little easier. "You're on speaker--"  
  
"So, don't tell the room you left your underwear on the floor of the safehouse?" Langly teased. "I mean, not that it's not great that you're alive, but why the hell is that a conference call?"  
  
"Because he's gonna do something stupid." Mary didn't bother to identify herself, but Langly didn't need her to.  
  
"I'm pretty sure 'doing something stupid' is his job description. What kind of stupid are we talking about, Villette?" Langly picked a completely unrelated IP address from a whole other datacentre and quietly hijacked it. Speaking of doing stupid things, but it was the kind of stupid he was good at, and it hadn't backfired yet. Not _really_ , anyway.  
  
"I want Jeanine Moore to take a look at Kim."  
  
"The crazy librarian who thinks you're an angel?" Langly stopped typing for a split second and blinked.  
  
"She can pick out the mythological threads surrounding a person. We have to wake Kim up, soon. I want to know what I'm dealing with."  
  
"I thought you did know what you were dealing with. I mean, you've been rifling his brains, haven't you?"  
  
Chaz made a terribly restrained sound of frustration. "The man's asleep. In fact, he's drugged into unconsciousness. That actually makes it harder to get to the truth, not easier. I could kill myself trying to read him like this, and there are things I'm not going to understand, because I don't understand the..." A long pause. "The encryption. Brains do a lot of shorthand in dreams. I can read Spencer's. I _might_ be able to read yours. _Maybe_. I can't read Kim's _well enough_ to understand what's happening, because I don't know him, I know nothing about his mythology, and I don't have much cultural context for Finnish reindeer herders as mail-order husbands for a eugenics project."  
  
"And Moore's going to be able to teach you his mythology, which is supposed to let you understand what you saw." Langly nodded and reached for his beer. "If Kim sleeps through it, that's probably a good idea. I'm not seeing the stupid."  
  
Mary huffed audibly, her breath obviously her own, compared to Chaz's still-stilted cadence."We're just going to drag some woo-woo hippy who doesn't have the sense to keep her fucking mouth shut through a top secret hospital for the criminally insane, the criminally--"  
  
"Arkham Asylum," Chaz cut in. "I say it. You can say it. Just not... in front of anyone who might care. If she comes up blindfolded with Spencer and Frank, she's going to be way too distracted to know where the hell she is. We're not introducing her to anyone except _maybe_ Markham and Mowbray, Adebayo if we have to, and we'll have her back out of the building in a few hours."  
  
"You think she's not going to be believable, even if she does say something," Langly realised, pausing his work at a safe point. "Not enough to actually trust her, but enough to let her see things that are going to make her sound about as reliable as a drunk redneck raving about alien anal probes, with the shit she already says to people."  
  
"I mean, there definitely is a bit of a credibility problem outside the Lincoln cluster, but I know what she's seeing, and whether or not I _like_ it, she's damned good at it, and I need her help."  
  
"And you want me to go get her and bring her to you."  
  
"I'd do it myself, but I really shouldn't be driving," Chaz answered, and Langly could imagine the way his shoulders would fold up... if his ribs weren't broken.  
  
"So, two out of three of us think I should get Moore and bring her to Idlewood, but I don't know about putting her on a motorcycle blindfolded."  
  
"Where the hell is Spencer?" Mary demanded suddenly. "You're crazy and he's on a lot of painkillers, and I want an opinion from another rational person who has _met_ Jeanine Moore."  
  
"He's at work." Langly said it as if it were the most obvious sentence that could've come out of his mouth, which it probably was. "You know that whole day job thing? Federal agent, when he's not hiding from the most god damn terrifying assassin on the face of the earth? Probably already on another case, and is going to call me any minute to tell me he's not making it to dinner, tomorrow?"  
  
"Do you _want_ me to ask him?" Chaz asked, and it would have been a sigh if he hadn't been inhaling.  
  
"He already told me the two of you are one brain each, right now," Mary shot back.  
  
"I'm holding a telephone," Chaz drawled. "It's an amazing device that lets us communicate with people who aren't in the room."  
  
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Langly huffed, punching one of the switches under the monitor to his right. "Byers, get the hell up here and talk sense into people."  
  
The speaker clicked on, and Byers's voice poured out of it, slightly breathless. "Langly, I don't say it often, but go to hell."  
  
Langly stared at the box for a split second and then turned that monitor on, pulling up the cameras for the garage. No, Penny wasn't here. "Okay, fine, I'm calling Reid, and I'll splice him in, but I don't think you're really going to have his attention for long."  
  
"Do it," Mary barked. "It's a shitty idea, Villette. I don't like her. You don't like her. And she doesn't have the sense to keep her mouth shut. Whatever she tells you, we're going to get burned."  
  
Langly made the call. "Hey, Special Agent Chicken-No-Chopsticks, your evil twin and my evil twin are fighting, and she thinks you're going to agree with her."  
  
Reid, of all of them, actually did sigh. "Make it quick. I'm waiting for a cab, so I can go rescue my _car_ , and then I have about another twenty minutes to make it to the airfield, during which time I was going to call you and tell you I'm going to be in New Jersey for a few days."  
  
"Okay, well, it's a conference call, so all three of us can hear you. The question is whether we're bringing Jeanine Moore up to try to decipher Kim's mythology. They can't keep him sedated much longer, and nobody's sure what to do with him, but she can probably give Villette a little more insight into how to deal with him. Of course, she'd be travelling blindfolded, because Idlewood. The down side to this is that she doesn't have a clearance. She probably couldn't even get a clearance because she's kind of a raving nutball, but she doesn't have to know where she's going or how she got there, and she doesn't _have to_ meet anyone. And she's kind of a raving nutball, so even if she does say something later, there's a real small range of people who are going to believe it."  
  
"People like you," Reid reminded him, "and that makes them dangerous."  
  
"See!" Mary crowed. "Thank you!"  
  
"Besides, we don't know that she's a 'raving nutball' as you so tactfully put it. She has an extremely public-facing job, and she knew who you and Mary were by looking at you. It's fairly likely she doesn't talk to people who aren't ... _related to her_ in quite the way she speaks to those who are. Most people talk to family differently. Hang on." The sound of a car door slamming and Reid fuzzily talking to the cab driver followed. "That said, she's very good at what she does, and I can absolutely see the benefits of bringing her in on this project. I agree she'll have to be kept in the dark about some things, because she lacks the clearance for them, but if the only people she's in contact with are ourselves, well, _your_ selves and the gentleman, I don't see that she'll have enough to work with to become a serious problem, later. After all, she's familiar enough with the underlying issue. It may be time to introduce her to what the advanced stages look like, when they're less appealing than, er, my partners."  
  
"So, you're for it." Mary still sounded unconvinced.  
  
"I'm trying to have a proprietary business conversation in a cab. Which is to say, yes, I'm in favour of the proposal, provided a certain amount of attention can be given to the security of both her and the project. Ensure she only comes into contact with what and whom she's working with. And Frank? You can pick her up from the airport in my car, as long as you promise to pick _me_ up at the airport, when I come back. I don't feel good about the alternatives, there."  
  
"Done. And I'm not even going to get kidnapped, this time," Langly teased. "Absolutely love you, Special Agent Sex Machine, and I'm looking forward to having you back."  
  
"I'll call you once I pick up my car," Reid promised. "I have to go."  
  
"So," Langly said to the two still on the phone with him, "who wants to tell the crazy twin she's going on an all-expenses paid field trip to Virginia to help stop an assassin nobody quite believed in for forty years?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a birthday, now you have a chapter!


	24. Chapter 24

"You don't look so well, Angel," Moore said, as she took off her blindfold and studied Chaz.  
  
"It's because I'm just a man, and now I'm a man with five broken ribs, courtesy of the patient you're here to see." Chaz weighed what he wanted to tell her, what it was worth telling her now, before she had a chance to study Kim. "Like I said, last night, this man attempted to kill me, and I know why, at least on the surface. What I don't know is who and what he is. Not in any meaningful way."  
  
"And he's legendary, like you are?" Moore eyed the man in the bed.  
  
"Like we are, yes."  
  
"No," Moore corrected him. "Like _you_ are. We all have our stories, our roles, but you're something larger than life. You are the dream and the belief of people who cannot even see what you are."  
  
"I'm a man with five broken ribs and a headache, and sometimes I can read minds a little, but that's all I am," Chaz insisted, wondering what else she might see. Angel was unpleasant, but not unexpected. That _was_ how he'd been made, however much he fought it.  
  
"No, you will change the world. Because you _can_. The Secret Sayer and I are not what you are. None of us are. Not the Weaver, not the Widow, not the Eternal Eye. There is more to you than what we are, and you can't hide from it forever." The ice-blue eyes of the clones were something Chaz thought he'd gotten used to, between the two Langlys, until he caught the way Moore looked at him, as if he were pinned open before her, some vital essence revealed, and he fought the urge to cover himself, as she spoke again. "Angel of the Moon and Vengeance, a reflection of all things, a kingmaker and a fool-maker."  
  
He decided it was in his best interest to stop arguing, for now. "And for all that, I need your help. We don't see the same things."  
  
"It's harder, because he's asleep," Moore protested, moving past Chaz to stand by the bed. "People hold themselves in certain ways, while they're awake. Their faces are set. Like this, a person is almost without will. They don't sparkle and glitter, because they don't move. You can't wake him up?"  
  
"Not yet. Not until I understand him a little better." Chaz hung back, watching Moore, who no doubt also looked like Viveka, as she looked Kim up and down.  
  
"A rebel," she said, after a long pause spent studying Kim's face.  
  
"Trickster god," Chaz guessed. "Another coyote."  
  
"No, he's not." Moore's eyes lingered on Kim's hands, tracing up to the set of his shoulders against the edge of the pillow. "But, also not a revolutionary. The Trackless Thief, the Ice King, the Usurper. A tribal leader, not an emperor. Jealous, not envious. He wants what is his, because it's been kept from him, and he'll take it by force. A rebellion against that is the core of him, like your image of expectations is the core of you. You pretend it isn't, that you have no centre, but it's what you are even deeper than the angel you've become. Just the same, he rebels against a system that denies him what is obviously his. I bet when he's awake the Ice King is much more obvious. Control, that is what he wants, what he needs. As you need information, he needs control."  
  
"And control is exactly what I've taken from him, in more ways than one," Chaz admitted, resisting the urge to lean back against the wall.  
  
"He will kill you, Agent Villette. If you have so thoroughly robbed him, he will kill you, and he will break you down first." Moore looked over her shoulder and smiled wryly, one corner of her thin lips curling. "If he can. But, I think he is strong enough, sure enough of himself, that you can't just brush him aside."  
  
"And that's how we ended up here." Chaz nodded subtly.  
  
"He seems in better shape than you. How is he injured?"  
  
And Chaz heard the question she was actually asking: if he broke five of your ribs, what did you do to him? "My-- One of my team shot him in the thigh, after he broke my ribs and almost blinded another agent. I'm well aware how intent on killing me he is, at this point."  
  
"Your partner, you almost said."  
  
"I thought you didn't read minds."  
  
"I don't. But, I'm a reference librarian, by trade, and if I hadn't figured out by now how to tell what someone isn't saying, I'd be out a job." Moore paused. "You mean the Light. He was the other badge, when you came to see us. The other two, the clones, were only consultants. Rely on his certainties, but don't depend on them."  
  
"Because he won't always be there." Chaz eyed Moore with no small amount of the exhaustion he actually felt. Whatever he might want anyone else to believe, recovering from having had his chest crushed was not as easy as he made it look, and the shoulder made it hard to do things like get dressed and take a piss. Much like the last time he was out that shoulder, however much he tried not to think about it. Whatever. He owed Tan a few shifts on the desk, anyway. That had originally been his purpose. "I survived the first thirty-something years without his assistance, and I'm sure I can make it through however many more I might not have his certainty to reinforce my own."  
  
"But, you need the Light to illuminate the darkness of the uncertainties you can't return to their owner."  
  
"He's in ... He's not available. Your insights and mine will have to do."

* * *

"How's his leg?" Chaz asked Dr Adebayo, distracting her from the hall, where Langly led Moore back toward an exit. Moore had to get home in time to work in the morning, and he'd gotten about all he could out of her.  
  
"I don't imagine he can stand on it for long, but I didn't think your ribs would be so much better, and he has been getting a great deal more sleep than you have." Dr Adebayo looked him up and down, as if expecting him to apologise and go back to bed.  
  
"My ribs aren't actually that much better. I'm just very good at ignoring them." Chaz made absolutely no move to go back to bed. "But, you make a good point. I have seven broken bones, where he has only one, and he's been the much better patient through all of it."  
  
"I still don't think he'll be walking out of here," Adebayo assured him, with a gentle pat on the unbroken arm.  
  
"I'm not sure that's going to matter. Someone will carry him. I'm really not sure how many _alpha_ minds he can handle at a time, but I know he did a number on Hafidha while he was coming after me. It took a bullet to buy me the advantage," Chaz warned, swallowing his own nausea at the memory. "If he comes through me, _Weaver_ may be the last chance you have, as much as I hate to depend on him for anything. Of course, I don't think he's _going_ to make it past me, because I really don't think he'd survive my death, but in case he does, you _will_ need help. And I want to be able to give you Agent Reid, who is incredibly resistant to this kind of thing, but his team has taken him back, for the moment."  
  
"I think you worry too much, Agent Villette." Another gentle pat on the arm. "We work here. I'm sure we can take care of ourselves and our patients. We know how this works."  
  
"I'm not sure you do," Chaz caught her eye. "You weren't here the last time, and this has the potential to be a great deal worse."

* * *

They started lowering the dose in the morning, after the tubes came out, and Chaz parked himself next to the bed with a pitcher of sugar water and a bowl of cough drops. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that this part sucked, and if he was going to make himself look sympathetic, he had to do something about the suck.  
  
But, he wondered how much more he could learn while Kim was waking up -- the transition between sleep and wake might give him more information and better paths than he'd get in either state. On the other hand, he should probably be focusing on calming Kim, rather than bringing up the more tumultuous periods of his extremely long life. But, maybe he could find pleasant memories...  
  
Except they were both anomalous, which made that about as likely as a cat with wings. And he'd been exploiting his easy access to Reid's pleasant memories, however few and far between they were, which meant this was going to be an even less pleasant experience, as he dove into a mind that would fight back, both for itself and with the Anomaly's own need to cause suffering. They were resistant, after all, not immune. Especially not in a liminal state like this would be.  
  
As time dragged on, little things started to become clear. The early American memories had been mostly terrifying, in the dreams, despite nothing apparently causing that fear. But, as Kim drifted toward wakefulness, Chaz realised he'd been sick for months, starting on the ship. Kim had been sure the Society was trying to poison him, and what little food he'd been able to keep down hadn't been enough. He'd tried trading plates with Viveka and the Society men, eating food he was sure should have been safe, but he was still getting sick from it. Eventually, he'd switched to just bread and preserved meat, and he'd finally settled out a bit. Even after more than half a century, he still struggled with 'rich' foods. Meat, bread, raw vegetables, and fruit made up the majority of his diet, and Chaz was more than a little surprised the man was still alive, eating like that. Sure, an alpha could do it easily, but the amount of _meat_ it would take to keep a gamma going, without sugar or much dairy... Especially a gamma actively pushing back against the world.  
  
And that was when Chaz knew he'd win, as long as he could survive the initial volley. Kim came in hard and fast, probably because he still couldn't quite sustain himself for anything long term. And he wouldn't need to go long term if he could bend the will of any alpha in range and crush any gamma who got too close. A subtle 'see what you're expecting', like he'd pulled coming up on them wouldn't have been costly, however constant it may have been, because it was _reactive_. Kim could've propped it up with a couple of burgers and some orange juice. But the assault he'd unleashed on Chaz probably wouldn't have held, much longer. Where Chaz _usually_ managed to maintain muscle, Kim was nearly all skin and bone, a kind of thin Chaz had only been once, and was still recovering from. There were no reserves to burn, and that _wasn't_ just because of what he'd done that day, like Chaz had assumed. The internationally feared thief and assassin was actually just that fragile. And no less deadly for it.  
  
But, he fished deeper. The smell of 'hospital' brought back the sharp pinch of tissue samples being taken, the complete lack of privacy and dignity that came with being an object of study, an object that might be replicated... or not. This one was nearly invincible, the Society believed, but far too thin and frail for serious work. Still, perhaps there were features that might manifest less if combined with something else; maybe they could make something better from this. He could hear the voices talking about Kim as if he weren't even in the room, never mind naked and conscious.  
  
Why had Kim put up with this treatment?  
  
Because as Moore had said, he was rebelling against something worse, against the idea that he didn't belong. The Society had claimed to have a use for him, a place for him, a need for him, and more than that, they wanted to make _more people like him_. Like him, but better, even, where 'better' meant 'stronger' and 'taller'. And he'd take that; that would be his parting shot at the people who'd taken a dowry just to be rid of him. Sometimes he wondered what had happened to them, and as little as he liked them, he hoped they hadn't been hunted down by the priest's men, once the Americans had found them. There were stories about the priests fighting the 'devils', and he knew that meant his family and others like them. And he knew sometimes the priests won. But, he'd met priests since he came to America, and they didn't seem like hunters or fighters, they seemed like loudmouthed storytellers, petty tyrants at worst, with no real power but what people believed they had.  
  
The hospital smell broke through again, and Chaz let it, nudging the still-dim pain of the broken leg, letting it consume Kim's rising consciousness. Pain in a hospital meant he hadn't been killed. It meant someone had brought him to safety, had tried to save him. It meant that he was still alive, despite his condition. And if he was alive, he was valuable, somehow.  
  
And a flood of horror followed that, memories of other people's experiences as prisoners of war. So many wars worth of horrors...  
  
Chaz encouraged something further back to show itself, the memory of Viveka, the memory of himself standing next to Viveka's children. These weren't really strangers, were they? No, some of them might be Kim's own children or stepchildren. These people were looking for him, not to harm him, but to find their parents. Two unfortunate orphans had finally realised who and what they were, and they needed his help, so they made sure he'd survived.  
  
And Chaz held back the knowledge that there were more clones, and that they were clones at all. That was a discussion that could wait until Kim was awake.  
  
But, the emotional approach wasn't catching. Kim knew and accepted what he was being shown, the majority of it his own half-recorded memories, and he understood, on some level, what that meant for him, but he felt no attachment, no desire to return the favour. In fact, he thought Viveka's children were idiots, and Chaz could feel the certainty that idiocy was exploitable, which it probably was.  
  
Unfortunately for Kim, Chaz stood firmly in the way of that happening.  
  
And there... the first flash of actual consciousness, the light going on behind Kim's eyes, even as they stayed closed, that subtle shift in breathing.  
  
"Good to see you back among the living. Let me sit you up a little and I'll get you a cough drop and some water. Your throat's probably killing you. Neck might sting a little, too, but I doubt you can feel that yet." Chaz unhooked the remote from the side of the bed and slowly raised it about thirty degrees or so, watching Kim's head roll, chin tucking down, in a pretty good impression of unconsciousness.  
  
"Don't bullshit me. I know you're awake, Kimi. I felt you wake up." Taking the cup from the side of the bed, Chaz loudly poured sugar water into it. "You've got two IVs, right now, so I know you're not that dehydrated, but you probably feel it because you haven't been _drinking_ water, so your throat's dry. You also had a feeding tube, but that's out, now. It's been a few days."  
  
Chaz could feel Kim trying to push him back, but he'd gotten in too far, this time. If he let go, he might never get this far again, but as long as he could hold it, the top layers of Kim's thoughts were open to him. And he hated every second of it. He remembered being on the other side of this, albeit a great deal less comfortably, chained down with someone else fucking with his head. And this wasn't the same, but it was close enough to scare the hell out of him. But, he was already a monster, no matter what Spencer had to say about it, and he would do what he had to do. He felt slightly better about it knowing that Kim had been trying to _kill him_ for the last month or so. Actually, he felt downright generous.  
  
Kim's eyes fluttered open, squinting and glaring at him, still not quite sufficiently conscious to speak clearly with his mind and almost wholly unwilling to use his voice, but Chaz knew what he wanted, and put the straw to his lips. Surprise flashed across Kim's mind, if not his face, at the taste of sugar, and he nearly spit the water out.  
  
"I know you're not used to it, but it shouldn't make you sick. Not at this concentration. I wouldn't give you what I drink, but _this_ should be safe. This should help clear your head."  
  
The look Kim returned was blatantly disbelieving, and Chaz could tell he knew he was still drugged, if substantially less so.  
  
"Yeah, not that much. I'm crazy, not stupid. I do remember you tried to kill me, and I'd like to make sure you're not going to try again, before we ease off that much."  
  
And in that moment, Chaz had no doubt in his mind exactly what kind of idiot Kim thought he was. That came through loud and clear.  
  
"So, why don't you know where Viveka is?"  
  
Kim pulled back and stared up at him, completely confused. None of the thoughts slotted together in ways that made sense -- to either of them, as far as Chaz could tell.  
  
"She's your wife, isn't she? You must have been looking for her, after she was taken away."  
  
Kim dismissed the question with a shrug, as if she'd never mattered, and Chaz caught the edge of that and pulled.  
  
"There were no children." Not quite right... He could taste the edge of truth in it, and he remembered what Kim had come from. "There were no _sons_."  
  
Closing his eyes, Kim turned his head away, with another dismissive shrug, and Chaz realised even the daughters hadn't actually survived -- not just born betas, like he was, but born _gammas_. And that was why Viveka had hit the Society man with lightning. He'd promised them a world where they'd make better children, better people, but the pregnancies had almost destroyed her -- eating for one gamma was hard enough -- and neither of the children had survived, because it was _impossible_.  
  
And suddenly, Chaz thought he understood the successes of the Lincoln cluster -- Viveka's clones were supposed to bear the Anomaly, but to crack more _slowly_ than her children had. It wasn't so much about passing on the Anomaly, with her samples, it was about _containing it_.


	25. Chapter 25

Chaz was on the verge of hallucinating, as he stood at the head of the table, one arm still in a sling, but his shirt actually properly on, and the edges of his vision flickered with shadows of things that never were and never would be. But, he had to get through this meeting, and then he had to get lunch for Kim, before they knocked him out again. It was going slowly, but he suspected Kim was starting to see things his way. Still, he needed to eat and sleep before he tried that again, and his ribs felt like he'd taken a bat to the chest, and that was before he got to his shoulder. And he really shouldn't have put the shirt on, but pride demanded it.  
  
"Fun fact: an incredibly stressed female gamma _can_ produce gamma children. Not just anomalous children, but already full-blown, active power anomalous children, requiring a diet that can sustain that level of constant exertion, because they don't have control yet. Fun fact number two, and if you ask me why I know this, I will absolutely refuse to explain: the eggs from the gamma in question can apparently be used to produce anomalous children in laboratory conditions." The grim smile made him look slightly unhinged. "If you'll pardon me the joke, because I'm going to lose my mind if I can't find something amusing about this situation, the eggs are apparently already cracked."  
  
At the other end of the table, Langly sputtered and coughed into his hands, and Hafidha winced.  
  
"That was bad, Chaz. That was terrible." She paused. "And yet, irresistible."  
  
Chaz ignored her. "I say 'apparently', because it doesn't quite make sense. Eggs make a hell of a lot more sense than cheek swabs or other random tissue samples, but I'm not sure there's anything for the Anomaly to latch on to in just an egg. Possibly if they were fertilised eggs, but even I don't remember that far back."  
  
Langly scoffed. "Yeah, people don't really remember anything before they were toddlers -- hell, most of them don't even remember _that_ \-- and then there's you and Reid."  
  
"I promise my memory's even longer than his, but I do not, in fact, remember my own conception, for which I am eternally grateful." Chaz turned his gaze to Adebayo. "But, to get back to the point, I'm trying to track down anything that would serve as documentation of Kim's recollections of his missing wife and short-lived daughters. I have no reason to doubt these particular facts, because he has no attachment to them -- he doesn't care if I believe him. He's neither drawing me in nor pushing me out. This is a part of his life he's abandoned, and he regards it as irrelevant, unlike any number of other things I still can't get out of him. And he's definitely tried to lie to me about any number of things, building off my assumptions about what I was seeing. This, though... I'm not seeing that, here."  
  
"His wife is missing and his daughters are dead, and he doesn't _care_?" Markham eyed Chaz sceptically, tapping a pencil on the table, one end and then the other. "That sounds like a crack."  
  
Chaz shook his head and regretted it. "No, Kim's had active powers since well before that. That's how he was chosen for his wife. I can't talk too much about the circumstances, but we're not the first people to try to understand the Anomaly, in the US. And the people before us wanted to recreate it and control it, to make supermen. But, if I'm not mistaken, the majority of Kim's female relatives, in the preceding several generations, showed similar anomalous talents. As far as the family knew, it couldn't pass to a male child, which makes me think the men in the line never progressed past the passive stage, because there's no way you're going to get a trail that consistent without some kind of overflow. And it's not all the female relatives, just _most_ of them. I'm left to speculate at the reasons, because Kim doesn't know, and if he did I don't think he'd tell me. He has no intention of discussing his time in Finland."  
  
"So, he doesn't care about the wife because he never cared about her, right?" Langly asked, tipping his chair back with a foot on the edge of the table. "He didn't choose her; there was no romance. Some guys showed up at his grandmother's door and paid a dowry for him. The way you talk about it, it doesn't sound like anybody actually _asked him_ what he wanted, and he just didn't care enough to fight it. or maybe he was looking for an excuse to leave home, which is probably a little harder if you're a reindeer herder in the middle of frozen buttfuck nowhere. And these guys show up at the door and tell him he gets a place to live that isn't freezing cold and inhabited by his family, and all he has to do is bang this Swedish chick, and they'll take care of everything else." He caught Chaz's eye and held it. "He was sixteen, right? I'd have done it when I was sixteen, and I didn't even live in the frosty northlands. Move out of the house and get laid. Hm. Uhhh, _yeah_?"  
  
"I'd think they'd at least have become friends, if they had more than one child together," Markham argued, now bouncing the pencil on its eraser and catching it in the air. "Generally, one does care about what happens to one's friends."  
  
Chaz's eyebrow drifted upward as he stared at Markham. "How long have you been working here? I'll give you a minute to go back down common comorbidities."  
  
"Asocial, if not antisocial personality traits," Hafidha said, shooting Markham a disappointed look. "I might go as far as outright sociopathy, given the man's career choices."  
  
"He mostly just convinces people to do what he wants done, and given his reputation in certain circles, at this point that probably doesn't even require him to take control of people's minds. The people who work for him know that his interests align with theirs, and that his skill in getting them the information and equipment they need means the jobs, despite being more dangerous than many of the options available, are actually less likely to get them killed, because he's better prepared. He's a very good bet, as these things go." Chaz paused and tipped his head into a nod. "At least until a few days ago."  
  
"Apparently, the Canadians caught up with him, and he decided to finish the last job with his own two hands." Hafidha failed to look entirely sympathetic. "Which is when he slammed his head into Chaz, and did not win that argument."  
  
"Spencer shot him, not me," Chaz demurred. "Either way, I don't think he _has_ any friends, and I'm not sure he has any particular concept of friendship. People either have a purpose -- whether positive or negative -- or they're ignorable until they develop one. When Viveka, his wife, disappeared, she no longer had a presence in his environment or a place in his toolbox. He adjusted to compensate for the loss of a tool, and moved on. On some level, I think he'd be happy to see her again, but it's not a significant motivator for him. If he's looking for her at all, it will be because he's getting paid to do it."  
  
"So, he's a career criminal, and likely to go back to it, if he leaves here. He's unquestionably anomalous--" Here, Markham gestured to Chaz's broken arm. "--so he obviously belongs here, but we're not sure the facility itself will stand up to him, never mind the staff. And we know it's not safe to keep him consistently sedated as far as he'd need to be to protect those of us who aren't you, Agent Villette. I'm at a loss."  
  
"I have an exceptionally bad idea," Chaz admitted, holding his lips in his teeth for a few seconds, as he considered how much to share, "but, there are other people I need to discuss it with, first, before I make any attempt to implement it. The fact is, if it _works_ , he won't need to be kept here. If it doesn't, we'll probably both die. I just have to run it by some people, first."  
  
Langly squinted at him for a long moment, before his eyes rounded. "Oh, hell no. You can't be serious."  
  
"Do you have a better idea?"

* * *

By the time Chaz returned with a burger and a salad, Kim was still drifting in and out of sleep, but he seemed a good bit more accustomed to this limited state. His eyes didn't open when the door clicked shut, but his voiceless words splashed sloppily across Chaz's mind.  
  
"Flaming Flamingo put you up to this, didn't he?"  
  
Chaz set the plate on the tray table that still stretched across Kim's lap. "I'm... pretty sure I missed part of that sentence. You're almost there, but I'm not sure those were quite the words you wanted."  
  
"You're working for Flaming Flamingo, aren't you? The Yukon Ho... Whatever he's calling himself, these days." Kim went to make a dismissive gesture, but the shackles shorted it before it completed. "The former Devil of Bedlam."  
  
"No, actually, I'm not. Plain old, regular WTF agent, which is to say, the part of the FBI that specialises in crimes committed by people like _us_." Chaz pulled a spoon out of his shirt pocket and put it next to the plate. "I'm not allowed to give you a fork, in case you decide to stab me with it. Supposedly you'd be less effective with a soup spoon, but I've seen what kind of damage a man can do with a spoon."  
  
"WTF? Now you're making things up."  
  
"Not really. It's actually the Anomalous Crimes Task Force, but the What The Fuck unit, for short. And I picked you up for attempting to murder a federal agent, being, you know, _me_." Chaz pulled up the chair just outside of Kim's reach.  
  
"And now you have me chained to a hospital bed, because I've been shot. You should've killed me. It would've been faster than waiting for me to waste away, here, and you wouldn't have to tolerate questions about how I died in custody. _You_ should know better. Hospitals don't know how to deal with people like us, so it's a waste trying to convince me you're trying to keep me alive."  
  
"Well, this is definitely a hospital, but it's also the only place I know of that's specifically designed to keep people like us alive. It's actually an inpatient high-security psychiatric facility designed to contain the criminally anomalous. Most people like us don't handle it nearly as well, because they weren't born with it. Not like we were. The human mind is only so adaptable." Chaz watched Kim's face for signs that the words had sunk in, but that face remained almost expressionless. The surprise definitely registered in Kim's weakly-shielded thoughts, though.  
  
"Is that what happened?" Kim was suddenly interested, trying to sit up straighter as he looked intently at Chaz, who could tell the room was spinning around his head. "They get crazy, and they start killing each other, right? Not for good reasons -- not for money, proper revenge, science, or even by accident -- just because they were there, or for truly crazy reasons. I thought it was because they were from the cities, that they weren't used to such a small community, but you tell me there are people like us who aren't born like this, and they're crazy?"  
  
"Yeah, that's what I'm telling you. Most people who develop the, ah... Anomaly, the thing that makes us different, later in life, can't handle it. A large majority of them are consumed by the urge to cause as much suffering as possible, mostly for others, but also for themselves, if they're unable to harm anyone else. There are treatments that can help _some_ of them, but not all of them. Most of the time we're stuck treating symptoms, but a good third of the people here are less unintentionally dangerous than they were when they got here." Chaz gave Kim a knowing look. "I know you know the difference."  
  
"Intentionally dangerous, because I know exactly what I am doing, and it's very well reasoned and profitable."  
  
Chaz considered attempting to learn the mind-speaking technique from Kim, if only because the man was perfectly clear even with a mouthful of meat and bread, which was a great skill to have. "Yes. Precisely my point. You're not _compelled_ to do harm, as far as I can tell, however much harm your business may have done to its targets, and I say that as one of the targets."  
  
"It's nothing personal," Kim assured him, taking another bite of the burger. "You crossed the Society for the Betterment of Mankind, somehow, and we have a long-standing contract, which I wouldn't tell you, but I know you already know. There's nothing to be gained in denying it." He looked up from the burger in his hands. "I resolve problems, and I don't ask questions that aren't immediately relevant to those problems, because I simply don't care. I don't need to know why. I need to know what, how, and who else is likely to be interested in the outcome or the procedure. But, I have a mild curiosity, in this case, and I hope you'll indulge me, because I'd hate to have to insist, in this condition."  
  
"I might. I think there are a lot of things we could tell each other that would be extremely profitable for both of us, in the long term, which is part of why you're still alive. I respect your talents, whether or not I appreciate what you've chosen to do with them."  
  
"I couldn't live in the world, as it was, as it is. It was useless to pretend I had anything in common with those people, besides the usual number of fingers and toes. I chose to live outside of it -- much less stressful, far less costly." Kim went back to his burger, still talking, and again, Chaz wished he could be as coherent with his mouth full. "But, I wanted to ask about the facility in Lincoln, Nebraska. I was intended to discourage investigation into the work done there, and I had no interest in that work, nor did anyone else, after that reporter, Solomon Todd. And then you came looking for the clinic, for the patients, the doctors, the records, and something had to be done, of course. But, those two who were with you... They're Viveka's children. They look just like her. How did they survive?"  
  
"They're ... You really don't know about the work the clinic was doing?" As always, the question didn't need an answer, Chaz just needed to see what thoughts asking it raised.  
  
"It was a fertility clinic. I assumed they'd given up on trying to pair us with each other -- there were so few women -- and were just using our sperm with normal women. But, if you're implying that Viveka's children were the outcome of that project, which I'm willing to believe, given that I also have the public records surrounding the people you visited in Nebraska -- and I think you missed a few -- then I'm wrong, unless she donated eggs."  
  
"It's a little more complicated, and we're still not _quite_ sure how it worked in regard to the samples, but I can tell you they're not quite her children. They're her clones. Every one of them is nearly-identical at the genetic level, aside from what we believe are intentional modifications which are very likely some part of why they survived. Speaking to the birth parents, they were warned that there was a high chance the children _wouldn't_ survive, and for every successful birth that led to a grown adult, we have no idea how many miscarriages and childhood deaths there were." Chaz smiled grimly. "And we know there were other subjects sampled, who may have produced fewer successful births than Viveka, but we only have numbers, we don't have names or appearances. But, if you're curious, I can run your face against the DMV in Nebraska, and see if we get any hits. That's not a guarantee there aren't any, if we don't find them, but a nationwide search takes--"  
  
"It only takes a long time if your tools aren't designed for it. I could do it easily. I just never had a reason to." Kim chewed, his mind turning the idea over like a shiny stone. "I still don't really have a reason, just another point of mild curiosity. I do hope I have sons. Sons who grow up here have a chance to become something more."  
  
"You, ah... might have a little more difficulty doing it, now. I understand some unfortunate incidents befell your equipment, recently."  
  
"Your fault, I have no doubt, and congratulations. It's taken a very long time for anyone to do quite that much damage, but if you're working with Viveka's children -- clones, whatever -- I have far fewer questions about how you managed. It makes a great deal more sense." Kim eyed Chaz without turning his head, and the next intentional communication between them bore a faint tinge of humour. "You're sure you're not crazy from this Anomaly? You've done me a great deal of harm."  
  
"The price of doing business. You were trying to kill me, at the time, _and_ my partner's mother." Chaz waited to see how Kim would defend that, or if he'd even bother to.  
  
"I was not trying to harm the elder Dr Reid. I was trying to use her to leverage an opportunity to remove the younger Dr Reid from the Society's list of concerns, in whatever form that removal might take." A faint smile touched Kim's lips, quickly blocked by another bite of the burger. "I failed to anticipate that he already expected that approach. Is he an oracle? I've never met one, but I've heard they exist."  
  
"No, he's not one of us. He's not anomalous at all. He's just that good." Chaz left out the part where it wasn't Reid who'd stopped Kim's men, but _Langly_. Better that Kim have a reason to respect every member of the team, individually, on the basis of things he already knew about.  
  
"When I am no longer trapped here, perhaps I'll offer him a job. I pay a great deal better than the FBI for minds like that."  
  
"Except you no longer have an organisation to hire into. Not just because your machines were destroyed and your data sent to the authorities in several nations, but because I understand the former leader of your group has stepped back in to gather its remains."  
  
"He set me up. You _are_ working for Flaming Flamingo." Kim's eyes burned with a rage that showed nowhere on his face, but strained against the polite surface of his mind.  
  
"Nope, just working for the FBI. Our interest was in potentially illegal human experimentation at the clinic in Lincoln, and you stepped right in front of the investigation." A wry smile curled the corner of Chaz's lips. "Nothing personal."  
  
If looks could kill, the one Kim levelled at Chaz would've been deadly. In fact, Chaz thought if it hadn't been aimed at _him_ , or if Kim had been slightly more in control of his mind, the look _could've_ killed.  
  
"But, I do have a proposition for you, speaking of hiring people away from things. This facility is a hospital for the criminally insane, and while you're a criminal, you're not the kind of crazy they're worried about, here. You're not the kind of crazy _I'm_ worried about. And right now, you have nothing to go back to." Chaz let that thought settle. "But, there's another facility that's going to open, this year -- one that's for people like _us_ , people who were born anomalous and survived the experience, but are having trouble finding proper medical care. People who _didn't_ go on killing sprees. It's a private medical facility, not owned or funded by the government. But, this place is going to need damn good information security, and I know how good you are at making that happen, because I just spent a couple of months banging my head against it, and even then, it took _Viveka's_ children to get to you. If you can assure me the contract with the Society rests with Bedlam, and not with _you_ , and that you have no further interest in pursuing it, I can get you a good paying job, including a separate home and the best medical team you've ever had access to, and you'll be working primarily with people like us. Your identity is negotiable. Almost no-one knows who you are." That feral smile played across Chaz's lips and his teeth bared as the corners of his mouth pulled back. "But, you screw me and you die. The choice of whether you'd prefer the job to being kept _here_ is yours, but the option to kill me _or my team_ is actually off the table, at this point, whether you've realised it or not."  
  
"You have a great deal of faith in your abilities."  
  
"You have no idea."


	26. Chapter 26

To say he was uncomfortable was an understatement, but Chaz couldn't bear the thought of spending another night in Idlewood. He had nightmares about ending up there in a more permanent fashion, and waking up to those walls for days on end hadn't helped at all. But, now he was in his car, albeit with Hafidha driving, and the seat was tipped back to keep him from slamming into the seatbelt every time traffic lurched forward and stopped again. They could've picked a better time to try this, but he had to get out of there, he had to get away from what being there was doing to him.  
  
He'd made some decisions he wasn't proud of and some other decisions he wasn't sure about, but he was relatively certain that Kim wouldn't give anyone too much trouble in the next week or so. He'd managed to impress upon Kim that it was in his best interest to do nothing in worse taste than flirting with the nurses, if only because he still couldn't walk, and it was going to suck to be him if he pissed off or harmed the people taking care of him.  
  
And that was it, he'd realised. Appealing to Kim's self-interest in practical ways got him a lot further than anything else. That had included introducing him to Chloe, who'd been more than happy to do Chaz the favour of meeting the patient with the weird dietary needs. And he'd warned Kim about her, up front -- "Don't try your luck with her. She can suck the life out of you and serve it for dinner." Kim had finally looked concerned, at that point, as if he were at last coming to terms with the idea that there were things more dangerous than he was, in the world. But, they'd gotten on well, once they started discussing food, and Chaz hung back, just there in case anything went wrong.  
  
Just in case the fresh fear he'd embedded in the depths of Kim's mind came undone, but he didn't think it would. In a few years, it might wear thin. It would definitely not hold even that long, in the face of psychotherapy, but he doubted Kim would reveal enough of himself to another person for that to work. He'd done what he had to, to prevent Kim from harming anyone else in an escape attempt, or just to do it because he resented being kept. He'd done what he had to, but he still didn't feel good about it. And he wondered how long it would be before Kim figured out what he'd done.  
  
But, he'd done the damage, and he'd followed it with essentially a community service deal. If Kim would work somewhere they could keep an eye on him, then he wouldn't have to spend life in Idlewood, for attempting to murder at least one FBI agent, and conspiring to kill several other people. And he was relatively sure that would actually work out, because it _wasn't_ personal. There was no vendetta; there was only a job, and the contract had collapsed, finally. The Society was going to cut off contact, once they heard about what had happened in Canada, and Kim wasn't going to help him find them. That was part of the deal -- no questions about former clients, or at least not _as_ clients. Kim had answered a small number of questions about his interactions with the Society, in its earlier days, because those were more questions about Viveka, than himself. And he'd spoken of a few other people who'd been driven mad by the Anomaly and died shortly afterward -- the idea that the Anomaly affected people differently had fascinated Kim, who'd never really given it any thought, before that point.  
  
And, as Chaz let his mind drift, he knew he was procrastinating. Badly. He had to call Byers. He'd meant to call Byers when they'd gotten back to the highway. Then he'd meant to call Byers when he saw the traffic. Maybe he wouldn't call Byers. Maybe he'd just... show up.  
  
"How bad is this traffic?" he asked, without sitting up. "As in, are we somewhere we can grab an exit and drive out to the Fitzgerald site?"  
  
"Half an hour ago, yes. Now, not so much." Hafidha hit a button on the tape deck, which did not make music start. "Make this piece of crap work, or I'm replacing your car stereo while you sleep."  
  
"Hit stop. I know it's stopped, but hit stop. Then hit rewind, wait about a second, hit fast forward, wait a second, then stop, eject, and flip the tape over and try playing it from the other side. Switch sides is the button closest to me."  
  
"Chaz? One of these days, you're going to have to get a car that's not a piece of shit." The tape deck whined in the background.  
  
"My car is not a piece of shit. You just want a digital interface, and I _don't_. Besides, the stereo takes CDs, which is more than I can say for Spencer's."  
  
"It takes CDs, but that's not what you keep under the seat. No, you've got a box of tapes from the late eighties and early nineties."  
  
Chaz grinned. "Wrong seat. I'm sitting on everything after about ninety-seven."  
  
There was a sound that was unquestionably Hafidha slamming the heel of her hand against the stereo, and _Unknown Dreams_ poured out of the speakers.  
  
"How the hell do you even have _this_ on tape?"  
  
"Mix tape. Okay, the box under your seat goes a little further forward than I thought." Chaz continued to look faintly amused. Maybe he'd call Byers after he got home and washed off the stench of hospital. He had to do it, and he had to do it soon, but he had no idea how he was going to justify the strength of his certainty.   
  
"So, did you seriously offer a job to the guy who tried to kill us?" It was as if Hafidha picked up his thoughts, and he had to check and make sure he hadn't done anything regrettable, but no, she was just pissed and he was sitting there. "Are you looking for a repeat of Beale?"  
  
"No, I'm looking to _avoid_ a repeat of Beale, thanks. That's why I don't want him in _Idlewood_. They can handle Weaver, but you and I both know they're not equipped to handle _me_. And I don't think they can hold on to Kim, once he gets bored. So, the safest thing to do is put him where we can watch him, and keep him from getting bored. He's an extremely skilled security specialist, and all his work in the last thirty-something years has been _contract_. And that makes him a lot safer to work with than if he'd been working out of personal interest in the targets." Chaz took the deepest breath his ribs would let him and held it for a few seconds. "We destroyed his life, everything he worked for--"  
  
"Which is an even better reason not to trust him," Hafidha pointed out. "You fuck up somebody's entire world, they're not going to want to do you any favours."  
  
"He's not doing me any favours. He's doing community service to avoid what he thinks would be life in a prison that could actually handle him. He thinks I'm doing him a favour, and I intend to keep him thinking that."  
  
"You did something to back that up, didn't you." It wasn't a question, and after a glance at the car park between them and the exit she meant to take, Hafidha twisted around in her seat to look at Chaz. "But, that's not really your thing. You don't really... do... mind control..."  
  
"Surprise." Chaz kept his eyes closed, not wanting to see the look on Hafidha's face.  
  
The car behind them honked, and Hafidha turned around and pulled forward about a car length, before everything stopped moving again.  
  
"And no, I don't really do it. Because I don't _want_ to. And it's still not anything you haven't seen me do, it's just... angled a little differently. It's taking a thought that exists and bending it, amplifying it, until it becomes important. It's nothing you couldn't do with a few mirrors and a flashlight. I don't really do mind control. I just annoy people with their own split-second impulses, which, okay, is fundamentally still mind control, but I'm not putting things in that aren't there. _Kim_ can do that. I... probably can, too, but I don't really have a reason or a desire, and I'd like to keep it that way." He wasn't going to admit that he knew damn well he could do it, that he'd done it in a timeline that had never come to be. He hadn't done it to Kim, and that was what the conversation was about. Instead, he'd scared the shit out of Kim, as he was waking up, and semi-permanently affixed that fear somewhere down deep, next to any number of other half-irrational fears.  
  
"So, you just convinced him he didn't want to piss you off."  
  
"Pretty much, yeah."  
  
"And how long's that going to work? He can do it, too. Can he undo it? Can he do it to _you_?"  
  
"Once he's off the drugs, yeah, he probably could do it to me. But, he'd have to catch me in a condition I hope never to be anywhere near him in, because he's not subtle. Okay, no, he's subtle if you can't do what we do, but for me, probably for Weaver or Allie, he's like a bull in a china shop. He doesn't care about getting caught, because if you're close enough that he's in your head, he's already in trouble. And it's not like an alpha is going to notice, anyway. And if they do, no one will believe them, and they're not strong enough to fend him off. ... Except maybe Spencer, but I really don't want to test that." The car finally started to move forward in a way that suggested it might keep going, and Chaz eased the seat up a little, so he could at least see over the dashboard. "But, it's going to work as long as he's relatively comfortable. If there's nothing interfering with his basic standard of living -- which according to his memories is a lot more monastic than you'd expect -- he's not really going to have a reason to pick a fight. Besides, he's interested in the Fitzgerald Institute, in the idea that someone is finally actually studying the Anomaly in a way that might benefit him directly. As long as he's happy, healthy, and not bored, we probably have him for a decade or two, by which time he's going to have better reasons not to fuck with me."  
  
"You hope."  
  
"I hope," Chaz agreed.  
  
"And now you have to sell this to Fitz."  
  
"I already sold this to Fitz. Now, I have to set up a video conference between the two of them, so they can work out the details. And I have to stay with Fitz, because I don't know if Kim has to be in the room with his target, or if he can exploit the video feed, like I can." Chaz let his eyes drift closed again, debating the wisdom of checking on Reid, or maybe just announcing his own survival. The latter would be a lot less offensive to either of them, really.  
  
"So, you need me there, right? Because otherwise you're handing the third or fourth most dangerous hacker in creation a laptop and giving him an open line to whatever Fitz is using." Hafidha smacked Chaz in the side of the knee. "When were you going to ask?"  
  
"I wasn't. I was going to get Frank to do it. I need somebody Fitz is less worried about involved, somewhere. I make him exactly as nervous as he should be, and you're a fed, too. He can ignore Frank. He's been doing it for thirty years." The song changed, and Chaz recognised _Pretty When You Cry_ , instantly. He kicked the dashboard hard, and caught the tape as it popped out. "Pick another soundtrack."

* * *

"I know we're good, but we're _this good_?" Langly looked around what would be the lobby of the Fitzgerald institute. "How the hell did you get this done in ... what, six weeks?"  
  
"I didn't," Byers admitted, looking unusually smug. "Helmsman gave me the idea. With the funding cuts, a lot of the old public works projects are getting sold to private developers, under the assumption that where the sites haven't been used for anything more than the usual bureaucratic functions, you might as well put in a golf course. The building was already here, and the outer walls are a wartime build. Just have to move a few inner walls, install some equipment, and we'll be good to go."  
  
"Which means you paid golf course prices for it." Langly rolled his eyes.  
  
"You rented a private jet to fly one of your clones out. I don't think you get to talk about costs, right now, Langly."  
  
"That was my fault," Chaz admitted, ducking his head and holding up a hand. "I needed to consult with Moore, before we woke up Kim."  
  
"Then it's really him?" Byers stared at Chaz, unblinking.  
  
"It's absolutely him. And I don't know what else to do with him, but you know what he's been doing for a living for the last thirty-something years. The question is whether he'll work for us, and given the choice between that and spending the rest of his life institutionalised, I'm pretty sure he'll make the right decision. But, he wants to meet you, obviously. _I'm_ here to make sure he doesn't get the better of you. There's a chance he'll still be testing the waters to see what he can get away with, and I want to put a stop to that." Chaz shrugged and winced, taking a slow breath. "He won't see me. I can make sure of that. But, as long as I can see you, I can protect you and fairly solidly dissuade him."  
  
"Remind me what we gain that I couldn't just as easily get by letting Langly handle information security?"  
  
Chaz shook his head. "Langly's good at machines, at systems security, which is important, but Kim's skills extend to plugging leaks before they happen. You thrive on leaks. You know how to encourage them, and you work with a small enough team that only the three of you know what's going on at any given point, _if_ all three of you know. You're about to be handling new employees and the medical information of about twenty people, the day the clinic opens its doors, and that includes mine and Kim's, and you're dealing with a ... let's call it a disease that has to be framed in certain ways, lest some very bad shit happen to some entirely undeserving people." He caught Byers's eye. "I am extremely aware of the way large groups of people react when presented with a threat believed to be posed by an easily-identifiable portion of the population. We need someone on board who can _cover our asses_ , because we're going public in a way Idlewood never could, and we have to be able to do it safely."  
  
"So, you're going to trust the mind-control guy to handle the press. As a member of the press, I don't know how I feel about that." Langly eyed Chaz in a way that strongly suggested neither of them were getting laid.  
  
"As long as the only thing he's doing is preventing people from publicising the Anomaly, I don't think we have a better solution. The alternative is to risk the truth getting out -- which doesn't help anyone, but has the potential to endanger every anomalous person in the world and all the anorexics, too -- or not to open the clinic at all, and continue to depend on Idlewood to provide services to the handful of non-criminal potential patients who can be trusted to know it exists. We're in a shitty position, Langly, and the only way out of it is to bring together enough of us who _aren't serial killers_ that we can make a believable argument that we're _not dangerous_." Chaz cleared his throat and tipped his head. "Which is bullshit. We _are_ dangerous. But, I don't think we're the kind of dangerous that justifies the _massacre_ that's going to happen if we go public about this as the Anomaly, and not just a really terrible metabolic disorder."  
  
Byers lingered in the doorway of an office, as Langly plugged in his gear in the anteroom and started running tests. "I don't really think a massacre is likely to--"  
  
"Have you _met_ your countrymen, Fitz? I assure you this ends in a massacre, and the National Guard is not on my side."  
  
Langly pointed at Chaz, eyes still on the laptop screen. "He's seen the future. Heard him talking to Reid about it one night. And even if he hadn't, _your_ fucking optimism has almost gotten me shot more times than I want to count, _Byers_ , so I'm gonna go with 'massacre actually extremely likely', entirely on the basis of how many guns I've had pointed at me for way less than this. Besides, do you even remember high school? People are vicious shits with no brains, especially in groups. They're like cows. You spook them and then they stampede and kill you."  
  
"That's a lot coming from a guy who makes a living spooking the public," Byers shot back.  
  
"Hey, we're informing the public about the actions of their elected officials and the non-elected dickheads those officials appointed to do shit that is absolutely not in the public interest. Besides, our readership still sucks, and you know it. If somebody went on a daytime talkshow and said there was a disease that turned normal people into serial killers, or even superheroes, what the hell do you think would happen? Because I'm pretty sure that's not going to end in an anomalous pride parade, with free cookies for all. Especially and doubly not if the Syndicate still has its hand so far up the government's ass we're living under a sock puppet."  
  
"I really think people can adapt to this," Byers insisted.  
  
"They can," Chaz admitted, "but you have to give them something to pity, something to sympathise with. We're monsters, myself in particular, and we're not really appealing neighbours. But, if we offer the image of sickly, starved Gates Syndrome sufferers, some of whom have psychological problems that come from not having enough food, and we show them these people 'recovering' and taking up normal roles in the community, then the first time they see a gamma convert, they're not going to blame us _all_."  
  
Langly looked up. "And now that we've had this conversation, I'm ready if you are. Communication comes through me to get to you, if anything goes wrong, I wake up White Rabbit."  
  
Chaz nodded, his eyes never leaving Byers. "Are we doing this?"  
  
"I want to live in a world where you're wrong."  
  
"So do I."  
  
"But, I know you're not." Byers swallowed and his eyes dropped. As he looked back up at Chaz, he nodded with the same hollow certainty that had carried him through the last thirty years. "Let's do this."


	27. Chapter 27

"Uhh, I don't know who the hell you're carrying on a conversation with, because that feed has no audio," Langly announced into his headset, from where he sat outside the room Byers and Villette were using for the meeting.  
  
Chaz appeared next to him, speaking very quietly. "I can hear him just fine, and so can Fitz."  
  
Langly tipped the laptop screen back and pointed. "I've done everything I can to that signal. It's video-only. I can't hear him, and that's coming through me to get to you."  
  
"I didn't say you were wrong about the signal. I just said we can hear him. Or Fitz can, anyway." Chaz pointed at the other side of the screen. "Besides, his lips aren't moving. He's not even pretending."  
  
"This makes it a lot more difficult to record this conversation."  
  
"I'm pretty sure that's the point. It's a demonstration of what he can offer us, which is absolute radio silence." Chaz watched Byers go through the usual list of questions about qualifications.  
  
"You think he can do that on the phone, too?" Langly asked, batting aside a lazy attempt on their systems. Either Kim wanted to make sure he wasn't working for idiots, or he was trying to find the pattern in the responses that would let him judge who he was up against. Automation had made that a lot harder, but even then, whether there were automated responses, or the timing and order of the automation could reveal something. But, Langly was pretty sure that as clear of an impression as he might give Kim, the impression would be useless, because as he had become, he was faster than anything Kim could set against him.  
  
"I don't know." Chaz kept his voice down, making sure Byers couldn't hear him. If Byers could hear them, then Kim might be able hear them, whether or not the mic picked up the conversation. Which it hadn't, because Langly would've mentioned it. "I want to say no, but that's because I've rarely seen mind manipulation without a visual component, and that 'rarely' always involves another kind of sensory connection. Weaver had to touch people. Allie doesn't have to see people, but she does have to be heard. Allie would be amazing over the phone. But, Kim's not using his voice at all, so I have my doubts he could use most of his talents over the phone. Though, oddly, I'm not sure if he's using seeing or the _act of being seen_. It's possible he can use both to slightly different ends. Likely, even."  
  
"So you mean, if you can see him, you can hear him?" Langly looped a finger in the air, curled it, and pulled. "Oh, he's playing dirty, now. Still doesn't know what he's walking into."  
  
"Maybe, but he hasn't taken a crack at Fitz, yet. He's not afraid to test the systems, here, but I'm pretty sure he's scared enough of me not to do anything _I'm_ going to have to clean up. I know that's going to bite me in the ass, one day, but..." Chaz shook his head, eyes still on Byers. "And yeah, if you can see him, and he's talking to you, or talking to someone with you, probably, you can hear him."  
  
"So, is that you can hear him, or ah... Fitz can hear him and you can do weird brain voodoo on Fitz?"  
  
"The latter. He has no idea I'm here, so he's not expecting to have to deal with anyone else. As far as he knows, the only person who's supposed to be able to hear him is Fitz." Chaz paused, considering it. "And supposedly you. Not... _you_ , but whoever's handling the equipment. He knows it's going to register that he's not transmitting audio, _eventually_."  
  
"I don't think he knows I exist, yet. I mean, not here. Pretty sure he hasn't realised he's up against an actual person, because I'm too fast to be human." Langly tipped his head back and grinned up at Chaz.  
  
"Too fast to be an alpha," Chaz corrected, face entirely impassive, before he looked back at Byers. He didn't need to be looking, but it made it a lot easier.  
  
"What are they up to?"  
  
"Kim's complimenting him on his security, actually. He thinks you're a very well-trained AI, and he's looking forward to working with the technology." A smile tugged at the corners of Chaz's mouth, even as he looked like he might swallow his lips.  
  
"Good," Langly muttered. "Let him think that. I'm just his ex-wife's kid. Nothing to see here."  
  
"You're the most like her," Chaz said, after a moment. "At least out of the clones we've met. She was a lightning-caller."  
  
"So, after me, they really moved away from the source material."  
  
Chaz shook his head. "Mythology, not biology. Any of them could do what you do, if they believed they could. But, there are other things that are easier for them to believe. You just ended up fascinated with telecommunications, like she was with the sky. Or, more likely, like her family was with the sky. If she's lineage, there's a good chance there were a whole group of people with similar mythologies." He tipped his head. "Like religion, really. A Catholic family is more likely to have Catholic children, not because it's embedded in the genome, but because it's what they're exposed to from birth. And you didn't ask, but I was more of a cult brainwashing accident."  
  
"Cult of one," Langly shot back, having read the file and regretted it.  
  
"Cult of personality." Chaz suddenly changed the subject. "And we're in pay negotiations. I can tell, because I've been there, that Kim's trying to make sure he's going to be able to feed himself. He's not convinced we ... or Fitz, anyway, understands what it's going to take. And, of course, lifestyle considerations."  
  
"And Fitz is promising him a house on the grounds and all the reindeer jerky he can eat, right?"  
  
"Something like that."  
  
A sound like someone knocking on a door rang out from somewhere in the room Byers was standing in, and they all froze. There were no doors in that room except the one Chaz and Langly were just outside. On screen, Kim was staring at something over Byers's shoulder, like a cat watching a bird outside a window. Byers turned around, eyes rounding with disbelief.  
  
"Cut the mic for me," Chaz hissed, waiting for Langly's thumbs up, before he called into the room. "If it's blue, answer it. If not, come out of there right now."  
  
"If it's _blue_?" Byers gaped at him in horror, back still turned to Kim, who watched but heard nothing. Or at least he didn't hear Chaz.  
  
"We have an acquaintance who travels by blue door. Supposedly." Chaz stepped out of line of sight and stopped being there before he stepped back in, studying the door. It was the one he remembered. "Give me back audio and open the door," he said from behind Byers, moving before Byers could focus on him, now that he'd spoken.  
  
With a wholly disconcerted look out the proper door, Byers opened the blue door, trusting Chaz to protect him from whatever might be on the other side. At first, he mistook it for a giant vulture, and then it resolved into a tall man, wearing a bird mask and a heavy coat.  
  
"Mr Fitzgerald?" The bird-man asked, still waiting on his own side of the door, which appeared to contain an office much more thoroughly furnished than anything in the building. "I am called Aurelio Merlo. Dr Langly asked me to contact you."  
  
" _Doctor_ \--? Oh, you mean _Mary_?" Byers blinked slowly, stunned. This was not the manner in which he was accustomed to doing business. Doors didn't just... appear in the middle of buildings.  
  
Chaz glanced over his shoulder, making sure Kim hadn't managed to figure out he was in the room, but Kim was wholly focused on Merlo.  
  
"I do. She thought I might be interested in your work, and that I might offer my services. I am a physician, with no small facility with our kind." Merlo looked up suddenly, and Chaz was fairly sure what had just happened. Kim had made the mistake _he'd_ made. The next words out of Merlo's mouth were incoherent, but he was fairly certain they were words.  
  
"Audio two is live," Langly announced, moments before the dry, rarely used voice came from the speaker beneath the screen. Kim was equally incoherent, and Chaz assumed that the two had recognised each other and resorted to a language that would establish their credentials, in some way. Or Merlo had picked up enough to speak Kim's native language, which might've been Finnish, but Chaz didn't think so. He hadn't had the time or the equipment to do better research, yet.  
  
"You two know each other?" Byers asked, looking back and forth between the weirdly dressed doctor and the stealth specialist in the hospital gown.  
  
"We've never met," Kim said, and once again his lips didn't move.  
  
"I believe his great grandmother requested my aid with a letter to one of the last of the White Queens. I thought I recognised that jawline."  
  
Kim spoke words only Merlo understood, his face revealing nothing.  
  
"No, I'm sorry. Further north. None of them survived the war, I'm afraid. It's a joy to see your family survived it." Merlo paused in a way that didn't invite comment. "I would ask if you are well, but clearly that's not the case. Have you a good doctor, or would you prefer someone a bit closer to home?"  
  
Kim's face barely moved, but Chaz registered him as being startled. He looked to Byers, and the next words came both ways, though the spoken ones still weren't in English. "The doctors here are supposed to be able to handle our kind, and I don't think I'm scheduled to have a home until after I've healed."  
  
"He was shot in the leg," Byers explained, before turning back to Kim. "If you're willing to accept my current offer, I can have temporary housing available within a few weeks, and something more permanent as the rest of the complex goes in."  
  
"And you understand what I am, and that I'll not be treated as your property?" Kim's face remained unreadable and motionless.  
  
"You'd be an employee," Byers assured him. "I'd say 'like any other', but I'm not quite sure of the limitations we're under because of your tax and immigration status, at the present moment, but you're free to renegotiate your contract or come to us if something's not satisfactory. You're... admittedly not quite a free man, but you're definitely a man, and as such, not _property_ , and if anyone regards you differently, come straight to me. I won't have it. That is not what this country or its people are meant to be."  
  
Kim nodded slowly, lips unmoving. "I think you actually believe that, Mr Fitzgerald. I accept your offer. I'll expect copies of the current working blueprints for the facility within the week. Your security is about to become _my_ security, and I take that very seriously. Particularly under the circumstances."  
  
"I'll send the contract documents up with Villette," Byers promised, making sure Kim would be under contract before any other information got to him. "And the blueprints will follow. You, ah... you'll be all right where you are?"  
  
"The food is very good. Otherwise, it is a hospital. Until this bone is mended, the current accommodations will do."  
  
"I look forward to meeting you under better circumstances." Byers nodded deeply and made a gesture behind his back. The video cut, leaving only those standing in the building.  
  
Langly jumped out of his seat and leaned through the doorway. "Who the hell is _this_ guy?"  
  
As Byers and Merlo turned toward Langly, Chaz became visible behind them. "You remember when Spencer almost got used for a human sacrifice, the other week? This guy was the doctor."  
  
"And how is he?" Merlo asked.  
  
"He's barely even got a scar," Langly admitted, looking like he might be impressed, if the doctor in question hadn't just walked straight through the wall. "So, wait, you know my, uh... cousin?"  
  
"You seem unsure that she is," Merlo observed.  
  
"It's a complicated relationship," Langly drawled. "We're related."  
  
"Yes, I do know Dr Langly, and the resemblance is very apparent. I visited her, to ask a second opinion on an anomalous subject -- something fungal, Mr Villette, not your sort of anomalous -- and when we were through, she advised that I look into Mr Fitzgerald's clinic, which I understand might be seeking physicians with _particular experience_." Merlo stepped back a bit, offering Byers a shallow bow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An end to Narcisse's murderously jealous rampage, at last! But, what about Bollinger?
> 
> A dangerous addition to the team! An offer of assistance from an unexpected, but extremely useful corner! How will these things converge?
> 
> Still no sign of the Society. Where have they gone and what strange experiments are they doing?
> 
> And whatever happened to that golem?
> 
> Find out a few months from now, because next time, we're following Reid to New Jersey! :D
> 
> (Taking the usual 2-3 weeks off, to get my shit together, with bonus fuckery for my computer being hosed. If you want me to fill a kmeme prompt, now's the time to nudge me about it.)


End file.
